


Hit Me

by basicallyallthefandoms



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gallavich, It's gonna be fluffy, M/M, and all that shit, and cute, but like nbd you know, gayyy, hitman - Freeform, i mean i guess its kinda crazy because murder, idk nothing too crazy ig, it's gonna be litty titty, just read it pls, mickey is a killahhh, smutty too, there's some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-10-26 19:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 174,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10793118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basicallyallthefandoms/pseuds/basicallyallthefandoms
Summary: Mickey is a well-paid undercover assassin. That's what he likes to call himself at least. In all reality, Mickey is a hitman for only Chicago's finest. He's the best in the business, with a body count that combats his clean track record every day. He's unattached, unabashed, and unwilling to give a shit about anyone but himself and his sister.That is... until one of his soon to be targets catches his eye.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update but please comment my dears i love feedback!

The corner was shadowed by darkness, the only source of illumination a small lamplight nearing the end of its life. Mickey waited wordlessly, leaning against the wet brick wall behind him and lifting a cigarette to his lips. He was dressed in his usual work attire, a plain pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, topped with his classic leather jacket and a pair of black boots. He didn't make any attempt to look fancy, but also made certain to look put together enough that he wouldn't draw any unwanted attention. The heavy weight of his Glock against his ribs kept him steadied while he took another hit of his cigarette. He flicked the ash off the end before stubbing it out against the wall. It sizzled against the wet of the bricks and he threw it past the curb, where it skirted into a gutter. 

He shifted his gaze immediately upon hearing a scuffling to his left. Instinctively, his hands balled into fists as he stilled into utter silence. He held his breath, as he always did when he waited for them, and imagined the face and the name in the back of his mind. _Jason Esposito._ He imagined the tanned skin and dark brown eyes, the black curly hair and the broad shoulders. He'd been watching the man for a week and a half- just long enough to get used to his daily routine- before deciding it was time. 

Finally, the man's shadow neared Mickey around the dusky corner, and his right hand slipped into his jacket to run a finger over the grip of his gun before turning the safety off. His head was turned as he walked right into Mickey, nearly knocking him over. 

"Oh shit, sorry, man didn't see you there!" he said with an easy smile, something Mickey hated about his job. He hated seeing the humanity, but that didn't stop him. The minute he knew it was his target, his gun was out and against Jason's chest and his finger was squeezing the trigger. The noise the shot made was faint due to the silencer around his Glock's muzzle, something he'd learned was a necessity in his profession. Jason immediately slumped, and Mickey caught him easily, hitching the lifeless form over his shoulder quickly and hauling the body to his Mustang smoothly. He laid it across the back seat over a plastic tarp and cracked his neck, rounding the car to hop into the driver's side and return the package to sender. 

He took his phone out as he pulled into the empty road, making his way to his current employers place of residence. The man was number 4 on the speed dial of Mickey's burner and answered on the third ring. 

"Hello?" he asked gruffly, sounding a mixture between asleep and murderous. 

"Hey, Rossi, the deed is done. I got your package, where do you want me to drop it off?" he replied and immediately felt his phone vibrate against his ear. He pulled it away to look at the notification and saw the $100,000 transferred to his account. "Good man, Rossi."

"Bring it to my pool house, my boys will meet you there to take it off your hands," he replied with his slight Italian accent. "As always, well done, Milkovich."

Mickey licked his lips, flicking his turn signal on as he slowed for a red light. "Just doing my job, sir," he said, looking around cautiously and making sure to follow every traffic law to a T. You could never be too safe with a dead body in your backseat. "I'll be there in ten."

Rossi hung up after that, probably all too happy to leave Esposito for his lackeys to deal with. Mickey didn't care what he did with the man as long as he got paid for his work. He had the route to Rossi's pool house engraved into his brain by now, since he was one of Mickey's most common and highest paying clients. As it happened, Rossi was deep into the clutches of the Mafia and had a certain way of pissing off nearly everyone he came across, leaving a big mess that Mickey was happy to clean up for him. He was always fast and discreet, never lingering around long enough for someone to see or hear or question. He'd been doing this long enough to know how much time he should spend in each location, how often he should allow himself to be seen, how he should dress and act. 

It wasn't really in his nature to feel guilty over his business affairs, because that's all they were. Money in exchange for a service, what America was run on. However, it didn't keep him from learning all there was to know on his clients before taking care of them. They were people after all, and he at least liked to give them the respect of knowing what they were about before offing them. 

He rounded the corner to Rossi's pool house moments later and parked out front, barely turning off the car before Mason- Rossi's right hand man- came out of the house, one of his newest partners following close behind. Mickey rolled down his window and lit a cigarette before acknowledging them. "How you boys doing?" he asked gruffly, watching as the new kid opened the door to the backseat. 

"Pretty good, Milkovich, you? Haven't seen you in forever it feels like," Mason chuckled, leaning against the side of the car while his little friend hiked Jason over his shoulder and practically sprinted towards the house. 

"Only been about a month," he shrugged, the cigarette shifting between his lips as he spoke. He inhaled deeply, looking Mason up and down. "Maybe a little longer."

He shrugged, running a hand through his light blond hair and looking up at Mickey shyly. "That's still pretty long for us to go without running in to one another," he said. He was right about that- Mickey and Mason had a sort of tendency to see one another in the most inopportune of times, but Mickey had been avoiding that at all costs recently. He couldn't afford to have Mason up his ass all the time- literally. It was too messy and dangerous to get involved with people he worked with or for. 

"Well, I'm sure you won't be seeing me around these parts for a while," he said, taking the light out of his mouth to breathe out and look back at Mason's shadowed features in the darkness. The same boy from before scurried over the front long and back to Mickey's car, wrapping up the tarp in the back seat and slamming the door behind him before running back into the house. "Hey!" he yelled at the kid, which only seemed to spark a light under his ass to make him run faster. "Tell your little friend not to slam my god damn doors next time, huh?" he said, leaning out the window to make sure his car wasn't dented. "She's fragile."

Mason smirked. "I know you have to disappear for a bit, Mickey, but that doesn't mean we can't see each other," he said with a hopeful look in his eyes. 

Mickey scoffed, taking another puff. "You know what I'm about, kid, and that's not it," he said matter-of-factly. He'd told Mason a million times that all he was looking for was some dick, nothing to be attached to. 

"I know, but-"

"Nope, no buts. A casual fuck is nothing, but you start hanging out with me or saying sappy shit and you're out. You know what, you're out. Sorry, kid, it had to happen sometime," he shrugged, shifting his car into gear and tossing the bud of his cigarette out the window as he drove off. "See ya next time!" he yelled over his shoulder before speeding away. 

He never knew why the guys he fucked had to go ahead and start looking for something more. Mickey barely even wanted dick from them, much less that gay feelings shit. Was it too much to ask for some separation between body and mind? He didn't think so, but apparently he was looking for the impossible. Still, as long as he moved on quickly from one guy to the next, no one was bound to have feelings, especially if he didn't stick around too long. 

As he slowed for a stop sign, he looked into the backseat for a trace of blood or anything that could be proof that there was a dead body lying across it moments earlier. It looked clean to him, but he'd have Mandy look it over once he got home. At the thought of Mandy, he pulled out his personal phone and called her. 

"What the fuck, Mick, it's like 2 in the goddamn morning," she grumbled, although she didn't sound tired. 

"I'm on my way home, do you want any food?" he asked, ignoring that attitude of hers that made him want to strangle her. 

"Oh, yeah stop at that mini-mart and get me a frozen pizza," she said with a yawn. "By the way I have a guy over, so mind yourself when you get here," she said just before hanging  up. 

"A guy? Wha- Mandy, what did I tell y- goddamn it," he groaned, tossing his phone onto the seat next to him. How many times did he have to tell her that he would not have her bringing random ass guys home to his apartment every night? Was it too much to ask for a little decency from her? Or at least a little _warning_ before they were in her bed? He grumbled to himself for a few minutes before pulling into his local 24-hour grocery store. He hopped out of the car, locking it behind him and raking a hand through his hair. 

He passed the cashier silently, ignoring the "Welcome" he got from him and finding the pizzas quickly. He threw a few of them into a basket he'd picked up along the way and grabbed some more shit that he could eat before returning to the cashier and tossing it all haphazardly onto the conveyor belt. 

"Hello, sir, how's your night going?" the man asked. Mickey simply shrugged and grunted, not bothering to pay much attention to him. He always felt a little off-centered when he finished a job, but it was less and less noticeable with every one he got. "Your total is $89.27," he said and just like that Mickey's head shot up. 

"Ninety bucks for a few frozen pizzas and a box of cereal? What the fuck are you on?" he burst, eyebrows furrowed together as he made eye contact with the worker for the first time. He paused, awestruck by the man before him. He had green eyes and flaming red hair, along with pale skin and a jawline that could cut like a knife. Mickey had to take a moment to collect himself before looking to the computer behind the man's head that added up his total. $13.45. He narrowed his eyes at the man, looking to his name tag. _Ian._ An easy smile spread across his face and he simply held out his hand for Mickey's payment. "What will the extra $75.82 get me?" he asked with a sneer, although he couldn't imagine how forced it looked. 

The man, Ian, shrugged, "Guess you'll have to wait it out and see," he said smoothly and Mickey glared. 

"Yeah, okay," he said, handing over a ten and a five before waiting impatiently for his change. Ian seemed to be taking his time looking over the money and punching the total into the register though, and Mickey wasn't having it. "You gonna get me my change any time soon, or am I gonna have to come over there and get it?" he asked harshly and Ian simply eyed him, letting the dig roll right off of him. He finished up and handed Mickey his change, making Mickey's eyes roll before he grabbed his bags. "Thank you," he snapped before storming out of the store. 

"Have a good night!" the cashier called after him, but he was already gone. Why people had to be so very irritating he didn't know, but he certainly hoped never to have to interact with that man again, though he certainly wouldn't mind looking at him a bit more. Whether he irritated Mickey in the two minutes they'd interacted or not, he was definitely easy on the eyes. 

He shook his head of the hot ginger and pulled out of the parking lot, only driving two blocks before he parked in the structure connected to his and Mandy's apartment. He locked his doors and shove his keys into his pocket before walking into the building, grocery bags in hand. He decided to skip the elevator and walked the stairs to relieve some of his built up energy from dealing with Mr. Esposito. 

Four floors later and he unlocked his door, coming face to face with a half-naked teenager. "Aw, fuck, Mandy, you didn't say he looked like a fucking twelve year old!" Mickey shouted, skirting past the kid to see if she'd preheated the oven. To his displeasure, she hadn't, so he tossed the pizzas in the freezer and turned it up to 425. 

"Um, Mandy, I'm gonna head out," the kid called warily, curling into himself when he saw Mandy walk out of her room with only an oversized T-shirt and underwear on. "Maybe call me if you want!" he said before rushing out of the apartment, the door slamming behind him. 

She stretched her arms above her head before making her way to where Mickey stood in front of the refrigerator and opened it, pulling out a beer. "How was work?" she asked nonchalantly, using her arm to twist off the cap, a nifty trick her dear older brother had showed her. 

He shrugged, hopping onto the counter to wait for the oven. "Not too exciting. Made a good chunk of cash today, though. Rossi is of course one of my most loyal customers," he said with a little smirk. 

"Ew, I hate it when you call them that," she said, shuddering a little. "Need me to take a look at the car for you?" she asked, tipping the bottle up and taking a hearty swig. 

"Yeah, but it can wait til tomorrow, I'm hungry as a motherfucker right now and I bet you are, too after a day with that kid," he said, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket and lighting it on the stove top. "He even legal yet?" Mickey asked. 

"Oh shut the fuck up," Mandy said, although it didn't have much bite to it. "He's just some rando kid that came into work today, nothing special."

Mandy worked in a strip club, solely as a bartender. That's what she told Mickey at least. He didn't have much reason not to believe her, despite her wallet filled thick with singles and fives at all times. _Tips,_ she'd assured him, but if it paid the bills, who was he to judge her?

"I see," he said, hopping off the counter top once he heard the beep, signalling the oven was done heating up. He popped in two pizzas right away, one for each of the hungry siblings. 

"Did Mason give you a hard time today?" she asked. Mandy was pretty much the only one who knew anything of his endeavors with the gay kids around the block, since she was the only one who cared enough to ask, but not enough to stop him. 

Mickey rolled his eyes, taking a drag from his smoke and walking into the living room, leaving the pizzas to bake on their own. "Don't even get me started on his ass," he said before blowing out a cloud of smoke and flicking his ash into the ashtray on their coffee table. 

"Ugh, Mick, that smells, you know the rules, smoke out the window," she said, pushing him off the couch right as he sat down. He groaned, but complied, taking the ashtray with him and sitting on the bench right under the window. "What did he say?"

Mickey shrugged, breathing in the cold, fresh air and listening to the sounds of the city for a moment. The honking of the horns, the police sirens and the occasional drunken shout did better to settle him than anything else. It reminded him that despite his activities that night, the world would keep on moving. It's what kept him in his profession and what kept him sane. 

"Nothing knew, just that it's been a while since we've seen one another and that he wants to hang out sometime," he said. "I turned him down and cut him off. No more of my ass for him if he's gonna start catching feelings. Fuck no," he said, inhaling deeply. 

Mandy just laughed, turning on the TV and drinking her beer. "Damn, Mick you are fucked up."

They spent the rest of the night eating, drinking and watching shitty movies on FX, not really enjoying them, but enjoying making fun of them. Finally, around 5am they decided it was time for them both to turn in. 

Mickey laid in bed quietly, one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. The night he went to sleep after a kill was always strange and euphoric for him. The first few times he'd had a knot of stress in his stomach, even threatened to throw up once or twice. But as time passed he found it easier to deal, found that the knot was smaller and smaller every time until it disappeared. The only thing was, he couldn't tell if that was good or bad.  


	2. Chapter 2

By the next morning Mickey had already moved on from his latest assignment and was looking through the plethora of emails waiting to be opened. He scrolled aimlessly through them on his phone and sipped at a screwdriver. As long as it had orange juice it didn't matter what he drank at 11am.

None of the requests piqued his interest very much so he sighed and tossed the phone to the side, not caring when it bounced off the couch and onto the floor with a thud. He stretched his arms out, ready to get comfortable when something heavy hit him in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. Mickey huffed, pushing it off before gulping as much oxygen as he could. He coughed a few times to catch his breath, bent over his knees. 

"Mickey, what the shit!? You think it's safe for you to just leave this shit around for your teenage sister to mess around with!? Put that shit in the safe and lock it, goddamn it!" Mandy's scolding voice yelled at him and broke his calm atmosphere. Once he managed to regain a hold on himself, Mickey sat up and glared at her, then saw that she'd thrown one of his assault rifles at him. His head snapped to face her immediately and he jumped offf the couch to grab it. 

"Three things, Mandy! Number one, this was not in any place that you would've easily stumbled upon it, meaning you went through my fucking shit again- strike one. You fucking threw a ten pound slab of metal onto my organs without checking to see if the safety was off you dumb bitch! Strike fucking two! And third, this is an expensive piece of weaponry and if it is damaged at all it will be strike motherfucking three, do you understand me!?" he raged, punching her in the shoulder as he passed her to get to the safe and lock his baby up. 

He heard her agitated groan from down the hallway, followed with more nagging as it always was. "You got cereal yesterday but no damn milk. Go back to the store and get some," she called at him, and he ignored her, entering the code to the safe and stowing his precious gun away. He made his way back into the kitchen, not looking his sister in the eye. "Did you hear a fucking word I said, dipshit!?"

He took a deep breath and raised his fingers to his head to massage his temples. "What is all your bitching about this early in the fucking morning?" he asked calmly, although the undertone was dangerous. Mickey would never actually hurt Mandy, he'd kill anyone who even had an impulse to do so, but fuck if he didn't want to rip out her larynx some days. 

"It's almost noon. I want some cereal and our milk is expired. You won't let me touch your precious Mustang and I'm not walking that far to get any. Ergo you can take a ride to the grocery store and pick up some damn milk," she said, reaching for his screwdriver from the coffee table in the living room and choking a little. "Damn, Mick, did you put a drop of orange juice into this vodka or just some food coloring?" she asked, taking another gulp and setting it back down. 

He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged on a sweatshirt before grabbing his keys from the hook near the door. He'd rather just get the milk than listen to his sister bitch at him all day. Plus, he wanted some cereal, too. "Fine, I'll go get your shit," he conceded verbally, making her smile victoriously. "Need anything else while I'm out?" he asked like the thoughtful brother he fucking was. 

When she didn't say anything after a moment he started walking out the door, not even pausing when she added, "Grab some tampons for me! Super plus-" He cut her off, slamming it behind him, but made a mental note to get her shit before he left the store. 

The parking structure was nearly empty since most of its residents had normal nine to five jobs and didn't undress or shoot people for money. Mickey happily trotted to his car without catching a glimpse of a single soul. By the time he made it outside, he realized that it was pouring rain out. He sighed, flicking on his windshield wipers and turning to the left. He figured he'd get back home by twelve, which would leave him plenty of time to watch a few episodes of Game of Thrones or some other shitty TV show to entertain him while he stayed out of any outside activity. Every time he took care of someone, he made sure to lay low for a few weeks, never straying too far from home and never doing anything suspicious online. 

By the time he pulled into the store's parking lot, he was already on auto-pilot, almost sprinting to the door to avoid getting soaked by the rain. The automatic doors parted for him with a rusty groan and he almost slipped when he came in- and would've- had he not been caught by a pair of strong hands. He stood up before turning to see a familiar man behind him with an easy going smile. 

"Back already?" the man asked. His waist still tingled from the hands that had resided there not a moment ago.

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed, searching for the kid's name tag again and rolling his eyes when he lifted his hand up to cover the tag from Mickey's sight. "Really?" he asked with a death glare. 

He laughed and flipped his obnoxiously red hair, shifting his weight. "We saw each other not even 12 hours ago and you already forgot my name?" he scoffed, shaking his head and tsking his tongue. "That's just sad."

Mickey furrowed his eyebrows at the kid for a moment before deciding it wasn't worth his efforts and walked swiftly away, careful not to fall again. He located the milk and tucked it under his arm before searching through at least six aisles until he found the tampons. He remembered Mandy saying something about super plus, so he grabbed the first box that said it and headed for the candy aisle. If she was getting her little friend, she was gonna be a fucking burden for the rest of the week, so if he could make a nice gesture to keep her off his ass for the next few days, he'd gladly do so. 

Finally, after grabbing her some chocolate and caramel concoction and himself some sour gummy worms, he wandered back to the checkout, sighing heavily when he saw one lane open. There was only one man in line- he was older looking, but had the whole silver fox thing going for him. He couldn't be more than forty, but in Mickey's mind, it was still too old for him to be trailing a finger down the hot cashier's chest. He grimaced a little and walked slowly to the checkout, hoping that the whole ordeal would be over quickly so that he could pay for his shit and get the fuck out. 

Sadly though, as he feigned interest in some nearby Lifetime magazines, that didn't seem to be the case. While he waited their confrontation out impatiently, he took it upon himself to pay a little more attention to the conversation. 

"It was nothing, Damion, why don't you just go home? I can call you later, it's honestly noth-"

"Like hell it's nothing! You wanna tell me why I found his fucking business card on your bedroom floor this morning?" The older man, Damion apparently, snapped. He wore an expensive, pressed black suit and looked like he had more than enough money to buy the entire store three times over. 

"Come on, baby, you know that people used to stick all kinds of shit in my underwear when I worked in Boystown. I just forgot to throw it out, that's all," the cashier said reassuringly, though Mickey wondered just how truthful that was. 

"Next time I see the name Gustavo Rossi anywhere near your shit again, I swear to god he won't live long enough to see another naked twink ass. _Ian!_ Do you understand me?" Damion snapped. 

_Ian!_ That was his name. Mickey's eyebrows furrowed at the mention of Rossi. He seldom heard the first named paired with the last, but when he did it always threw him off. What would Rossi be doing in _Boystown?_ That man had more hookers lined up and down the street for him than he'd ever seen before. And why would he be giving Ian his card? And why would Ian even be shaking his ass in Boystown?

"Jesus, Damion, it was just some random old fart from my old days at the club, nothing to worry about," he insisted, reaching forward to touch Damion's face but huffing when his hand got smacked away. "What the fuck do you want me to say, Damion!?" he whisper-yelled, obviously not noting that Mickey was listening quite intently behind the magazine stand and watching through the cracks in it. 

"All I want is a fucking explanation. And not your half-assed 'He's from Boystown' bullshit. A real, genuine fucking answer, alright? If you can't get me that by the end of the day you can kiss your fucking apartment goodbye, got it? Good luck finding a fucking ride home." he snapped back as a response, and Mickey's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, following Damion with his eyes as he stomped out of the store. Well that was an interesting and confusing insight into the mysterious cashier's life. 

Finally, he made his way to the register, making sure to avert his eyes from the redhead's, because he knew if he looked up he'd make some snarky, asshole comment. The ginger was silent as he scanned Mickey's items before chuckling softly as he tossed the tampons into a plastic bag. 

"What's so funny, chuckles?" Mickey asked menacingly, and Ian laughed with a smile before finishing up. 

"You've got tampons and chocolate. I don't know, it's just sweet," he said with a shrug. "You must be a pretty good boyfriend."

Mickey snorted at that, handing over a stack of cash for his items. "They're for my sister," he corrected before adding, "not that you would seem to know much about good boyfriends anyways." Immediately he snapped his mouth shut. He needed to work on his fucking filter. 

Ian's head snapped up from counting the bills to dig his eyes into Mickey's. "Were you eavesdropping?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He simply shrugged in response, accepting his change and stuffing it into his pocket half assedly. "Damion is a motherfucker, I know," he said smoothly, letting Mickey's comment fly past him. "But he's loaded and he's a pretty good fuck, so what can I say?"

Alarmed at how much information this kid was willing to put out so nonchalantly, Mickey furrowed his eyebrows and grabbed his bag, ready to run back into the rain without so much as a goodbye. 

"I'm Ian by the way! Ian Gallagher," the man shouted after him, "since I have a feeling we'll be seeing quite a bit of one another."

Mickey made sure to get the fuck out of there even faster, ignoring the overly friendly cashier with the apparent daddy issues. What other explanation could there be for a twenty-something, gorgeous ginger twink fucking an old business guy like that?

He popped his hood up to shield himself against the rain during his walk to the car. It had settled a bit, but the drops were still coming down heavily against him. He tossed the bag onto the passenger's seat and tried starting the car, cursing loudly when it stalled. Just his fucking luck. He got out of the car and popped the hood, looking around for the source of the problem. He spotted something quickly, muttering angrily to himself when he realize it was the cap to his oil and it had fallen off and gotten lodged beside it. He screwed it back on, but doubted that was the problem. He looked around for a few minutes longer, but ended up swearing again and getting back into the car, now soaking wet. He searched aimlessly for his phone in an attempt to call either Mandy or an auto shop before realizing that he left his phone at the apartment after it had fallen off the couch. In a desperate attempt to get home, he said a small prayer to any deity who may be listening and turned the keys again, whooping when the car started. It must have been a weird one-time thing. 

He sighed and started the car, turning around to pull out and barely making it halfway. He instinctively slammed on the break when he turned around again and saw a certain redhead standing in front of his car, letting out an embarrassing yelp. He rolled down his window and hung out it a little. 

"What the fuck, Gallagher!? Why you gotta fucking stand there all creeper and shit for like that?" he asked shifting gears into park. "Fuck you want?" he demanded. 

In response the ginger lifted up a bag that Mickey must have forgotten inside in his rush to get the fuck out of that place. "You left this on the belt," he said, practically having to shout to be heard over the crash of the thunder. "I waited til I got off to see if you were still out here so I could give it to you."

"What the fuck," Mickey muttered to himself, beckoning the kid closer with his hand and snatching the bag from him. "Thanks, I fucking guess." Ian nodded, his hands stuffed into his pockets and lingered awkwardly outside the driver's side, staring at Mickey intently. "Fuck you waiting for, a tip?"

Ian laughed a bit before shaking his head. "Sorry, I got distracted. See you around," he said, turning around and heading towards the bus stop at the corner of the street. Mickey shook his head, rolling his eyes at the weirdly perky cashier as he threw the soaking bag onto the seat with the other one. He rolled up his window and pulled onto the street, slowing down awkwardly for the stop light right next to where Ian stood in the pouring rain waiting for a bus. 

The thug in Mickey told him to keep looking forward and not give a shit about the pale, freckled little shit, but give some, get some gay guy in Mickey was already rolling down his window. "Do you... want a ride?" he mumbled the last part. The only reason he was offering was because Ian had taken the time to bring his bag outside in the middle of a storm and he remembered what his dick of a boyfriend had said about finding a ride. It didn't hurt that he was painfully hot, and had openly informed Mickey that one of the only reasons he was staying with his boyfriend was because he was a good fuck. Like it or not, that seemed like an invitation, and Mickey had never had ginger dick before. He wouldn't mind it, as long as it came with no strings attached. Still, if that dick had anything to do with Gustavo Rossi, he was going to stay as far away from it as humanly possible. After the ride home at least. 

"Really!?" he smiled widely under the hood of his coat, hands still stuffed into his pockets. 

"I'll change my damn mind if you don't get in the fucking car right now," he said, waiting for the goddamned light to turn green so it would give him an excuse to pull away before the kid could get in. However as karma would have it, the light stayed red until Ian was nestled safely into the passenger's seat, even waiting so long until he was buckled in to turn green. 

"Thank you so much! It's f-freezing out there!" he said, shivering and adding a stutter for what seemed like theatrics. Mickey rolled his eyes, but turned the heat in his car up. In all fairness, he was pretty cold, too from looking for what was wrong with his car in the pouring rain for five minutes.

"Yeah what the fuck ever. Where do you live, kid?" he asked, glancing over at the cashier. 

"Um, 2376 Brady Street," he answered before rushing to add, "it looks like an abandoned house, but it's an apartment building."

Mickey blinked a few times before answering, "I wouldn't give a fuck if it was a god damn slaughter house, I'll drop you off either way." Ian laughed heartily, having enough audacity to scoot the seat back and make room under the glove compartment for his freakishly long legs. "Did you really just move that seat? Do you know how long it's fucking taken me to get it into that position and you fucking moved it!?"

"Oh shit really? I- I'm really sorry, my legs were bent up weird, I didn't mean-"

"Calm down, I'm fucking with you," Mickey assured, sucking in a deep breath. He didn't need to try to charm the pants off this kid, he just had to keep remembering that. He had Rossi attached to him somehow and that fucking suit that harassed him earlier. Mickey couldn't get into any trouble for a while, he had to lay low. Lay low. The man didn't reply to him, leaving them in a comfortable silence.

"Hey, you never told me what your name was," Ian said, breaking it. 

Mickey looked over at him, turning right on Brady Street before sighing heavily. He did happen to go to the store pretty often, so maybe it wouldn't hurt for Gallagher to know his name. "Mickey. Mickey Milkovich," he said extending his hand for the redhead to shake. 

"Two hands on the wheel!" he bust, grabbing Mickey's fingers and curling them around the wheel before letting go. Mickey furrowed his eyebrows deeply, shaking out his hand, tingling from the weird touch. 

"Chill man, I was trying to be polite," he said, searching through the numbers on the houses of the street. 

"Oh," Gallagher laughed breathily. "Mickey, huh? Like the mouse?" 

He glared over at the ginger. "Say that again and I'll break your fucking nose."

"It's that red house over there- with the balcony," Ian said, pointing across Mickey's chest to get his point across. His breath caught at the proximity, but he shook it off easily, slowing to a stop right in front of the house, ready to turn into the driveway. "No! Don't- don't pull in. Damion will pitch a fit."

Mickey froze, simply stopping where he was to let Gallagher out. "Alright, then," he said, not caring enough to ask further questions. 

"Thanks so much for the ride, Mickey! See you around!" he grinned widely as he got out of the car, sprinting to his house. Mickey had to pull away to stop himself from waiting to make sure he got in okay out of instinct for Mandy. 

By the time he got home it was nearly 12:45 and he sighed, tossing the bags onto the counter and kicking off his shoes. He didn't even wait til he got to his room to start peeling off his wet clothes. 

"What the fuck took you so damn long, Milkovich!?" Mandy shouted at him. He rolled his eyes and kicked his pants off once he was in his bedroom, listening to her shuffle through the bags. "These tampons are fucking soaked, Mickey!! How am I supposed to use them?"

He shrugged on dry clothes, already feeling better as he yelled back. "Rinse them off, fuck if I know!!"

"Do you know how tampons even work, dumbass?" she shouted at him. 

He came back out into the kitchen, ignoring her grumbling while she found her chocolate and contented herself to eating it in a bar stool near the counter. "No, I try my best to not affiliate myself with vaginas in any way shape or form."


	3. Chapter 3

He walked into the store for the umpteenth time that week, not missing Gallagher's curt nod as he passed the register to get more tampons for Mandy since the other box he'd gotten her had been destroyed by the rain. He scrounged the aisle for something else, something that would strike up a conversation with the stupid hot cashier he'd gotten the hots for. 

Coincidentally, condoms were in the same aisle and he debated grabbing a box of Magnums before bucking up and snatching a pack off the shelf. He walked to the register with a determined stance, looking around to make sure there weren't any more customers around at all. Once he was certain he was in the clear, Mickey slammed his two items down on the counter, watching as Ian eyed a certain box with a growing sense of curiosity. 

"Big night planned with your girlfriend?" he asked, trying desperately to calm off as casual and failing. Mickey didn't even have to say it out loud to get Ian to understand, simply tilting his head to the side and raising an eyebrow. "Jessica! I'm taking my break," he yelled, although there was no one around the hear him. He never took his eyes off of Mickey's, but left the tampons on the counter as he grabbed the condoms and started towards the break room, the dark haired man following on his heels. The break room locked behind them and Mickey barely had enough time to take in the small kitchen in the corner and a couch and TV against the wall before he was being pushed up against the door and Ian's hands were groping at his ass, burying his ginger head in Mickey's neck and letting his tongue slide out against his throat. 

Ian lifted Mickey's thighs to wrap around his waist as he ground their hips together, and Mickey didn't hesitate to grab at his hair and pull it, emitting a groan from the redhead. Their hands roamed easily, ripping fabric and tossing clothing aside until they slid to the floor, naked as the day they were born and Ian tore into the box, taking a condom out and tearing it open with his teeth before sliding it onto his shaft, reaching out to stroke Mickey's before plunging into him. Mickey's head fell back against the floor in pleasure as Ian rocked into him and licked up his neck again, then cradled his face in his hands, leaning forward to press their lips together and for the first time, Mickey didn't turn his head to the side to stop the kiss from happening, letting Ian claim his mouth and-

***

Mickey was rudely awoken by a harsh ringing in his ears and he jumped up, reaching for his phone blindly and getting caught in the sheets of his bed. He struggled for a minute before he lost his leverage and fell off the bed completely. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me-" he said before his hand finally landed on the phone and he answered it, pressing it to his face. "Yeah, what the fuck do you want?" he barked out, his voice ridden with sleep. 

"Mickey? Are you still in bed you lazy asshole? Get up, we're going out for lunch," Mason's annoying ass voice was the absolute last thing Mickey wanted to hear in the morning. 

Suddenly he was very aware of the fact that he'd been dreaming about being fucked by the fucking cashier at his local 24 hour grocery store and he sat up, rubbing his face. "Mason, I will give you ten seconds to hang up, and if you don't I will personally murder you, do you understand me?" he replied and his voice was practically a growl.

"Wow I love when you get all aggressive with me, Mickey," he chuckled and Mickey was having none of it, running an angry hand through his hair. 

"Six fucking seconds," he said, standing from where he landed on the floor. He rubbed his ass, sore from the fall. 

"Aw, are we playing the 'No, you hang up first' game?" he said, never quite knowing when to stop when it came to Mickey. 

"Three motherfucking seconds until I dismember you and spread pieces of your body across the state, you understand me?" Mickey threatened, not an ounce of malice in his voice. Just like that, there was a chuckle on the other end before the line clicked and just like that Mason hung up. 

Mickey groaned, nearly throwing his phone at the wall. He stopped short when he remembered that the screen had practically shattered last time he tossed it and took a deep breath instead, putting it on his bedside table. He could easily get through the day without breaking something. All he had to do was go to the bank to withdraw some money and close an account, run a few short errands, then the rest of the day was his to do with what he wished. 

So, albeit reluctantly, he dragged his ass into the bathroom to shower and get cleaned up. He turned the knob on the water as hot as it would go and stripped, making sure to throw all of his laundry in the laundry basket so Mandy wouldn't throw a bitch fit on him. Once he was under the scalding water, he allowed himself to think about the strange dream he'd had. 

It wasn't strange in the sense that he was fucking someone he'd met that was hot and most definitely fuckable, it was strange that he'd allowed himself to be dominated so willingly and, even worse, _kissed._ Mickey didn't _do_ kisses. He thought they were gross and resulted in nothing but someone else's spit in your mouth which, yes, was far worse than their cum being in your mouth, not that he liked sucking dick either. He liked _getting_ his dick sucked on occasion, but preferred to keep fucking to fucking with nothing else to complicate shit. Kissing and dick sucking all felt way too intimate to him, too close to feelings territory. Plus, he'd never seen the appeal of kissing. It was just pressing your face on someone else's, and skin to skin contact meant nothing to him unless that skin was a dick. 

Either way, he took care of the slight erection he'd had upon waking up and washed his body and hair before making his way out, taking note of his skin, glowing red from the scorching water. He'd have to remember to keep it luke warm in the future so he didn't turn into the bitch from Evil Dead and burn himself. After drying off thoroughly, he wrapped his towel around his waist and returned to his room, checking his phone for the time 12:36pm. He rolled his eyes. He easily could have slept in another three hours. Fucking Mason. 

Begrudgingly, Mickey shuffled through the clothes in his closet and knew he had to look decent to be taken seriously, so he pulled on boxers, and a pair of snug-fitting black dress pants. He put on a plain white button up and tied a plain black tie under the collar, shrugging on a pair of suspenders and a suit coat over it. He put some gel in his hair and ran his fingers through it, not caring enough to comb it back or do anything that took more effort than what he'd already done. 

By the time he put shoes and socks on and walked into the living room, Mandy was laying on the couch, a bottle of vodka tucked neatly into the crook of her arm. She was out cold, wearing only a pair of black underwear and an oversided Slipknot shirt that probably belonged to Mickey. He smiled fondly at his little sister and slipped the bottle from her death grip carefully, being sure to avoid her swinging arms, especially after having felt the aftermath of her alcohol induced anger. Luckily, though, he managed to make it away and set the bottle on the coffee table without too much damage. 

Like the good brother he was, Mickey picked up a plush red blanket up from where it had fallen on the floor and covered Mandy with it, making sure she was well covered and comfortable before scrawling out a shitty note on an old receipt and leaving it for her in case she woke up, letting her know where he was if she needed him. Finally he made sure his phone was tucked into his pocket along with his wallet, then grabbed his keys from their hook and left the apartment, locking the door behind him. He jogged to the parking structure quickly, waving awkwardly when his neighbors offered smiles and greetings on the way. 

Once he entered the sanctity of his Mustang, he started it and pulled out, turning on the radio to head bang to some Metallica on his way to the bank. Traffic was surprisingly dense, yet he remained in a semi-good mood most of the way as he sang along with _Nothing Else Matters_ and thrummed his fingers along the steering wheel until he finally pulled into the parking lot and found a spot close to the entrance. He turned the car off and sat for a minute before going in, preparing himself for the irritation he would feel immediately upon interacting with any staff member. He knew a few of them personally, and others professionally, which meant they were awkward and shaky around him- hence why he needed to close the account. 

Eventually he mentally slapped himself and told himself to buck up as he got out and shut the door behind him. He walked across the lot and into the door confidently, unbuttoning his coat as he passed the threshold and approached the front desk. 

"Hello, sir how may I-" the woman looked up and paused, smiling before she continued, "how may I assist you today?" she purred the last part, batting her lashes up at Mickey. She wasn't bad looking, with pitch black hair and dark skin and eyes that could bring a straight man to his knees. 

Mickey, though, being anything but straight, stood tall and replied dryly, "I'd like to close an account."

"Of course! Under what name?" she said, floating into her job while still doing the best to entice Mickey, even going so far as to visibly pull her shirt down and show some of her cleavage. He almost laughed, but had to admire her efforts. She was definitely persistent. 

"Mikhail Milkovich," he replied, not even close to responding to her advances. She smirked a little and typed the name into her computer. 

"What an interesting name! What is it?" she asked, raking his body up and down with her eyes.

"Ukrainian," he said absentmindedly, shoving his left hand into his pocket and toying with the clasp of his suspenders with his right. 

"Alright, one of our tellers with be with you in a moment. You'll be working with Mr. Larson, Mr. Milkovich, but you can have a seat in the meantime," she said, gesturing to the few couches and seats in the center of the lobby. He nodded once and strolled over to them, falling back onto the couch and taking out his phone, fiddling with it to sate his boredom. 

There was chatter among the offices down the hall, and one specific conversation seemed to stick out to him more than any other. There was a voice in it that he couldn't quite place but was achingly familiar to him. 

"I don't care _why_ you went through my shit, the fact is you did it and that's a total invasion of my privacy. Now this shit is over," the voice said, the bite to it sharp and angry. "I'll be back to pick up my shit tomorrow and I'll be out of the apartment by the end of the week. Fuck you, Damion."

"Ian, no, please wait-"

And he didn't even need to place it then, because none other than the star of his dreams last night, strode out of the hallway, looking as hot as hell on wheels. His mouth nearly watered at the sight of the kid in something other than his work uniform. He wore a tight fitting pair of jeans and a blue flannel atop his black crew neck shirt. He looked  _edible_ to Mickey, who simply licked his lips and watched the fight play out before him. 

Damion came rushing out after him, grabbing Ian's arm so he spun around and pulled him so their chests were flushed. Ian didn't look particularly happy, but made no move to pull away, letting himself be groped and controlled. It was fascinating. 

"Come on, baby, you know how I get sometimes," Damion insisted, running his hands along his younger counterpart's arms. "I just... I love you so much that I get a little overprotective, and I can't help it. I'll let it go, I promise, just... don't leave, okay?" he begged, looking down at Ian- this dude was fucking _built-_  and giving him puppy dog eyes. Or in this case, old dog on it's last breath eyes. 

Ian looked down and chewed at his lip, sighing deeply. Mickey could've sworn he saw desperation in that look before it was wiped into desire and he looked back at Damion. "Okay," he conceded, lifting his hands to grip Damion's. "But this is your last chance, alright? I just... I need to be able to do my own thing without you worrying that I'm cheating on you every other second."

Damion nodded enthusiastically, "I promise, this is the last time." With that he leaned forward and pressed a kiss the Ian's mouth, and even as far as Mickey was away, he could see mouths opening and tongues moving. He grimaced and looked down at his hands. Damn it was gross. He stretched his fingers out, running his eyes over the "Fuck U-Up" across his knuckles and sighed. 

"Oh, hey, Mick!" Ian's voice pierced him like a cold dagger and he jumped before looking up, sucking on his teeth to feign disinterest. He waved dryly at the ginger and nodded at Damion. 

"Sup, Gallagher?" he asked, hoping there was no real answer and that this was the end to a strange, tense and all around uncomfortable interaction. 

"Not much, just passing through. What are you doing here, I would've thought-"

"Who the fuck is this?" Damion interrupted and Mickey rolled his eyes as he was pointed at by the angry older man. 

Ian shrugged and furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief. "He's just a customer of mine," he answered nonchalantly and Mickey sincerely hoped Damion would have nothing more to say about it since he really wasn't in the mood for a fight. He wanted to close his account, finish his errands and go home. He just wanted to take a nap. 

"Why the fuck are you two on a first name basis? I don't know any of my customers on a first name basis? What got you two to talking? Is this who drove you home yesterday?" the questions were rapid fired one right after the other by Damion, who made every attempt to look menacing but failed desperately.

"See, this is exactly what I'm fucking talking about, Dame, and you're only proving that you literally can't help but try to control every god damn aspect of my life! Can't you just let me have friends! Does it matter if we're on a first name basis or not? Just because I talk to another guy that doesn't mean I'm immediately fucking him, how is that so hard for you to understand!?" Ian burst, getting in the face of his grey boyfriend.

Damion's face was murderous and Mickey shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat and praying to anyone listening that he could escape the situation. He wanted nothing more than to punch this Damion asshole square in the face, but he was on good behavior for now, so he just flexed his hands into fists repeatedly. 

"Fine, Ian, you know what? Walk out, see if I fucking care! I've seen the pictures of you all over those other guys  in Boystown, I know you still work there," he seethed, getting in Ian's face. "You think I'm fucking stupid? I know exactly what you do every second of every day you ungrateful little fuck! You think I haven't seen what you do? I see _everything,_ Ian, and I was willing to get past all of it for _you!_ But you're so selfish and arrogant that you can't see two fucking inches past your face enough to know that I would do whatever the fuck it takes for you!" he burst, and Mickey could see the spit flying from his mouth, although it didn't even make Ian flinch. 

In fact, Gallagher looked just as pissed as Damion, but his was a more reserved type of pissed, the kind that meant he was thoroughly finished. "You've been having me fucking _followed!?_ What kind of manipulative, psychotic _bastard_ does that!? You have different fucking side dick every weekend, I know that, but I never do anything about it! I don't have you _followed_ or watched or make people take pictures of you! What I do is my fucking work and I do it to pay my own bills so you don't have to provide _everything_ for me! I keep track of what I do and what I earn for when things like this happen. I need money to fall back on now that I'm fucking leaving you. You're a sadistic, controlling megalomaniac that I want _nothing_ to do with," he said with finality. 

A buff looking security guard rounded the corner, looking in to see what the problem was, probably not expecting it to be coming from two angry twinks in the middle of the lobby. "Alright boys, what seems to be the problem?" he asked, and Mickey shrugged, since he really had no part in this. 

"Oh yeah!? You think you can just fucking leave me!? You've got a whole other thing coming for you Ian Gallagher," he shouted, as Ian turned around to stomp out angrily. The guard moved around to place a big hand on Damion's broad chest to keep him from going after Ian. "You'll be gutted like a motherfucking fish by the time I'm finished with you!"

And that was Mickey's cue to leave. He stood up and cleared his throat, brushing off his suit and approaching the front desk, making sure he wasn't in Damion's eyesight because _fuck_ he wanted to deck that guy. He walked up to the flirty receptionist from before who had been watching the ordeal with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

"I think I'll just come back some other time," he said to her and she nodded, still looking at Damion where he was fighting with the security guard. Mickey skirted out slyly, making sure he wasn't seen by the crazed man again and sighed with relief when he got outside of the building. Fuck, he couldn't believe what some people would do all because of someone they were "in love" with. He really couldn't fathom the lengths they'd go to or the hurt they would feel when that person left them. 

"Mickey?" a soft voice asked him. He cursed quietly and turned to see Ian standing to his left, lingering by the doorway. 

"Fuck you want, Gallagher?" he asked, rubbing his face. He'd just wanted to come out and close his fucking account so he could finish his day and go the fuck home. Not only did he not accomplish that, but he watched a relationship unravel before him, which made him far from comfortable and really he was at the root of it all, despite the fact that he'd only met Ian two days ago. 

"Could I get a ride home?" he asked hopefully, and Mickey almost started laughing. 

"Are you kidding me, kid? You think I'm gonna take you home after all that?" He shook his head. "No fucking way I'm getting involved with that."

He sighed, holding his arms to shield himself against the wind. "Oh come on, you think he's gonna do anything to you? You could take him, easy," he pleaded, and flashed sad eyes at Mickey. He furrowed his eyebrows at that face, because even he couldn't deny that it was really fucking cute, but he frowned and shook his head. 

"The problem isn't that I wouldn't be able to take him, Gallagher," he said, running a hand through his hair. "The problem is that you're some random fucking kid I happened to give a ride to because it was pouring rain, and now your fucking geriatric boyfriend is going crazy in there, and I can't get into any fights. Plus, from what I've heard, you're involved with some not-so-nice people, and I'd rather not be a part of that." Really, Mickey didn't care who he was involved with, but after one or two run ins with the police, they'd get on his case, and he couldn't be seen with people who were generally affiliated with them in the first place. 

Ian looked at him incredulously and sighed heavily. "Come on, he's gonna be coming out any second! I'll give you a gift card to the Shop and Go if you just give me a ride, _please,"_ he begged. 

He felt his resolve beginning to crumble, but stood his ground firm for at least a little while longer. "You want me to take you to the place that your psycho ex-boyfriend pays for you to live at? You fuckin' crazy?" he asked. 

Ian rolled his eyes, shifting in the wind in a sad attempt to stay warm. "No, I'd want you to drop me off at a friend's house," he corrected. "I just really need to get away from here, Damion is truly crazy when he gets this way, and he'll fucking kill me. Just... please."

Mickey knew that when normal people talked about getting killed it was a hyperbole. No one was _actually_ going to kill their significant other for standing around outside a bank for too long. Still, his mind had  been grasping wildly at any sort of excuse to spend time with the hot son of a bitch, so he jumped at the chance. 

"Alright, fucking fine, get in the goddamn car," he sighed, nodding his head to the Mustang. 


	4. Chapter 4

Mickey was in the car already before Ian had a chance to say a word, unwilling to wait outside for the boyfriend any longer. If he saw the dipshit again, there was no telling what he might do to him. Ian climbed into the passenger side quickly, but still managed to look more graceful than anything Mickey had seen. He wondered just how graceful those hips would be in bed.

 _Fuck._ He shook his head of the thought and breathed out sharply. Maybe he should just fuck Mason to get whatever the hell this was out of his system. He started the car and shifted gears, seeing Damion getting taken out of the bank by the security guard, still fighting him every step of the way. 

Mickey didn't waste any more time pulling out and getting onto the street. "Alright, Gallagher, where the fuck am I taking you?" he asked, itching his eye. 

"You should put your seat belt on," Ian said distractedly, and when Mickey turned his head to glare at him, he looked like an innocent fucking deer with wide eyes and a small smile. 

"Come on, Bambi, where the fuck are we going?" he reiterated the question, but pulled his seat belt on for some reason. 

Ian pulled out his phone, dialing a number and putting up a finger to Mickey. "Just one sec, I gotta make sure he's home first."

He rolled his eyes, but drove around aimlessly, taking random turns without really caring where he took himself. 

"Hey, Nathan?" Ian asked when his friend finally answered. "Are you home? Shit hit the fan with Damion and I need a place to crash for a while." He chewed his nail nervously, and Mickey kept glancing at him periodically, just wanting to take the ginger prick home. His hotness was making Mickey shift uncomfortably. "Yeah, yeah, I know you told me so. Are you fucking home?" He let his hand drop back into his lip. "Under the mat? Okay. Thanks so much, Nate, I'll see you in a few hours."

Mickey's eyes widened a little when Ian hung up. "Hours? Just how far away does this guy live from here, Gallagher?" he asked. "I'm not taking you further than like 45 minutes." He didn't think he'd be able to sit in a car with him for longer than that without pulling over and fucking the kid senseless. 

"No, silly, he lives like ten minutes from here, he just won't be home for a while," Ian assured, and Mickey grimaced at being called 'silly'. "Turn left at the next street."

"What's his address?" Mickey asked. He was much better navigating without someone shouting out random directions all the time, and he had a good sense of where he was going, so with a street name he should've been able to find his way there just fine. 

"Um, I don't really remember the exact address, I just know like... where it is from familiarity," he admitted, wringing his hands nervously. Mickey groaned in annoyance. 

"You wanna remind me why the fuck I'm helping you again?" he asked, shaking his head and following Ian's last minute directions. 

"Because I'm charming and it's as if I'm a wounded bird you've decided to take care of," he said, and when Mickey looked over at him, his face split into a hopeful smile. 

He shook his head at the stupid cute little asshole and pushed his face away with his right hand. "Nah, I think I remember you mentioning something about a gift card," he said, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye and wondering just how invested Rossi was with this kid. He really wanted to get his hands on him. 

But that just made things more complicated all around, even if the whole Rossi thing was just a fluke. He and Mandy went to the store more than he'd care to admit, always forgetting one thing or another, not to mention the fact that they had the munchies every other day. Their metabolism was good enough that they could both chow down a buffet by themselves, so they wasted no thoughts to hop in the car and get shit from the store almost every night. He'd have no choice but to run into the cashier, since he seemed to work second and third shift, when Mickey and Mandy showed up most often. He ran a hand over his face, suddenly very tired. 

"Yes, I promise, I'll get you a giftcard, just remind me next time you come in, okay?" he said honestly, although there was really no reason for the card. Despite Mickey's hardass exterior, he had a soft spot for insanely gorgeous guys who were blatant and honest about their sexual endeavors and lack of emotional attachment to their partners. 

"Yeah, you fucking better, Gallagher," he said, although the words held no bite. "So what's around this guy's house anyways? I'd feel better if I at least knew where I was headed," he finally said, after around the fifth time of Ian yelling at him to turn at the absolute last second. 

"You know where Boystown is?" he asked hesitantly.

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed together. "Yeah. Your friend lives over there?" Ian just nodded and Mickey headed in that direction. "Know him from work?" he asked nonchalantly. Normally he wouldn't care just how awkward the silence in his car was, but with this kid he felt the need to say something. Admittedly, the only people he ever really took car rides with were Mandy and dead bodies, but the thought was still genuine. 

Ian sighed deeply, but nodded. "We danced together a long time ago. He quit eventually, didn't like the constant attention," he said, offering more than Mickey had asked for. He didn't really care, though. 

"You don't mind it of course?" Mickey asked, a teasing edge to his voice. 

"Nah, I like people giving me money for shaking my ass and giving them a little handy in the back room," Ian admitted bluntly, and Mickey was only a little taken aback. Seeing his face, though, made Ian burst out laughing in the seat next to his. 

He rolled his eyes. "Oh shut the fuck up, Gallagher," he said exasperatedly and buried the urge to smile. 

"Come on, Mickey, what will it take for me to make you laugh, huh?" he asked, turning in his seat to face Mickey and hold his head up with his palm.

"Say something funny," he said simply, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Alright how about... oh! Okay, so my sister bet me a hundred bucks I couldn't make a car out of spaghetti," Ian said, making it clear that he was holding out on the punch line until Mickey looked at him. He refused to do so, so Ian punched him in the shoulder. His head snapped to look at Ian, eyebrows together in a mixture of anger and surprise. 

"Are you fucking kidding me!?"

"You should've seen the look on her face when I drove pasta!" Ian burst out laughing at his own shitty joke, bending in half at the waist in his seat. 

Mickey shook his head and tightened his grip on the wheel. It took all his efforts to not only not burst out laughing at the stupidity of the joke, but also at the bubbling idiot in the seat next to his. "That's a shitty fucking joke," he said blandly. 

When Ian straightened himself, he had tears of laughter in his eyes. "No, you don't- get it," he hiccuped, still laughing to himself. "Pasta- like- like past her. Because- she-" he burst into another fit of giggles, and Mickey fought to keep from laughing with all his might, but the stupid kid and his belly laughs were too fucking endearing. 

He let a few chuckles out by accident, and snapped his mouth shut when Ian's head snapped up to look at him. He bit at the inside of his lips so he wouldn't smile and didn't dare risk a glance to Ian. 

"I made you laugh," Ian said quietly. "It wasn't even fucking _hard!"_ He threw his hands into the air. "I am victorious!"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "You're surprisingly chipper for someone who just ended his relationship," he noted. He didn't say it because he understood, he just knew what he'd seen in the past, and people were rarely this giggly after breakups. 

Ian shrugged and snorted. "Like I told you, he was nothing more to me than a checkbook and a good fuck," he said, looking over at Mickey. 

"Fair enough," he said, slowing for a stoplight. They were only a few blocks from Boystown now, so Ian would have to start giving his shitty directions again soon. There was a knocking noise against his window, and he turned to scold Ian for hitting his precious car when the latter let out a little yell. There was a man outside the window knocking on it. Mickey rolled down Ian's window, despite the ginger's protests. 

"This kid the reason you couldn't take me out to lunch today?" he recognized the voice before anything and slammed his forehead on the steering wheel. 

"Mason, do you not know how to take a fucking hint? I didn't go to lunch with you because I'm off your dick," he said, sounding exhausted. Ian bit his lip and looked straight ahead awkwardly. "What the fuck are you doing around here anyways?"

Mason shrugged, leaning walking around the front of the car to get to Mickey's side. He reluctantly rolled down the window. He was seriously considering inviting Mason into the car so he could get fucked after he dropped Ian of. He had to get the damn ginger out of his head, and if he could get laid, it would be that much easier. 

"Since you blew my off I was at Boystown looking for some fresh meat," he said, and although it wasn't hard to believe, Mickey was skeptical. 

"Rossi send you out here?" Mickey asked, taking note of Ian's surprised body language. 

Mason nodded, not even trying to fight the dark haired man. "Yeah, sent me out to find some Curtis kid with a weird ass last name and bring him in for a stern talking to," he said, and Mickey tilted his head to the side, amusement evident on his face. "Works in the club apparently."

Ian visibly tensed out of the corner of Mickey's eye. "Any luck?" he asked and he could tell by Mason's bored expression that the answer was no. He thought for a moment before finally giving in to his stupid brain. "Meet me at the poolhouse, I'll be there in half an hour," he conceded. Mason perked and grinned, leaning into the window, his intentions clear. Mickey put a hand up to stop their lips from meeting. "Kiss me and I'll rip your fucking tongue out and watch with pleasure as you choke on the blood," he snapped, and Mason simply laughed, hitting Mickey gently on the shoulder. 

"See you later."

He didn't even wait til Mason was out of the street to drive away, surprised when he looked at Ian and saw a guy even paler than before, eyes wide and scared. 

"Hey, what the fuck? You alright, kid?" Mickey asked, actually sounding worried. 

Ian cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the roots. "Yeah, um... I just," he laughed breathily. "I, um... I'm Curtis," he said and Mickey really wished he hadn't said that. "That was my name when I... _is_ my name when I work there," he said. "Fuck I knew I shouldn't have gotten involved with Rossi."

Mickey sat up a little straighter. This was how he could find out about their connection. "So you do know Rossi, huh? How the fuck'd you get yourself into that mess?" he asked softly, knowing Rossi was a touchy subject with basically everyone. He wasn't exactly a good guy. 

"He came into Boystown one night and hit me up, tipped me almost a grand in one night," he said rubbing a hand over his face. "Left here," he pointed and Mickey turned obediently. "He offered me five grand to go home with him, so how the fuck was I supposed to say no? I did and spent the night, then picked up my money along with his business card. It turns out, Damion and Rossi have done business together, and they've had a bit of a rocky relationship," he groans, rubbing his face again. "I guess Rossi is a really dangerous man that has it out for Damion. If he's looking for me, that means..."

Mickey nodded in understanding, "You're in some deep shit." He finished eloquently. Ian laughed humorlessly. 

"Yeah. Really really deep shit," he affirmed and Mickey chewed the inside of his cheek. 

That meant either Rossi planned on taking Ian away from Damion- likely scenario- or Mickey was going to get an interesting email in the next few days. Suddenly he was shaky and swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth. 

There were some people he simply _couldn't_ kill. Sure, he'd only known Gallagher for a few days, but that didn't mean the kid hadn't weaseled his way into Mickey's small circle of people he tolerated. Then again, maybe- hopefully- this whole thing would blow over. Sure, Rossi could hold a grudge, but would he really kill some innocent kid just to get back at an asshole who probably stole from him or some shit? He didn't know. 

He followed the rest of Ian's soft directions to his friend's house and pulled up in front, chewing on his nail while Ian got out. "Thank you _so_ much for the ride, Mickey, I really appreciate it," he said, sounding and looking genuine. He started turning around. 

"Aye, Gallagher!" Mickey called before he knew what he was doing. He turned to face the car again. "When you working next?" he asked warily. Ian grinned easily.

"I work tonight at 7," he said. "Will I be seeing you?"

Mickey chewed his lip, "I'm gonna come cash in that fucking gift card tonight." And check on you to make sure Damion and Rossi didn't have you fucking murdered. 

"I look forward to it," he said with an easy smile. With that Ian turned around, and Mickey waited until he found the key under the mat and let himself in, waving back at the car before closing the door behind him. 

Mickey groaned loudly, letting his head fall back on the headrest. Why the fuck was everything so goddamn complicated. 

***

"Fuck did I tell you about kissing me, Mason?" Mickey panted, on his hands and knees on Mason's bed at the poolhouse. He'd felt lips on the back of his neck, something unwarranted in their relationship. 

"Fuck, Mickey," he replied, his fingers digging into Mickey's hips as he plowed into him, his rhythm thrown off on the brink of his orgasm. Mickey buried his face into the pillow right under his face as they came in sync, and he groaned into the pillow. All he'd thought of the whole time was a certain long legged redhead instead of a blond idiot. He pulled out and fell onto the bed beside Mickey. 

"Alright, man, see you later," Mickey sighed heavily, not interested in sticking around very long. He started sitting up and stopped when Mason's hand was suddenly on his shoulder.  

"You're gonna leave the second you fucking come, Mickey?" he asked in disbelief, although Mickey wasn't sure why. This surely wasn't the first time he'd gotten the fuck out of there right after fucking. 

"Mason, please, this has happened a million times before, don't start acting like a bitch," he almost begged, running his hands over his face. 

He remained silent, watching as the dark haired man picked up his clothes and shrugged into them, feeling sticky and gross from the sex, but deciding he would wait til he got home to shower. 

"So who was that kid you were driving with today?" he asked and Mickey groaned. 

"What the fuck is it to you?" he asked, pulling his shirt on. "Just a friend on mine."

"You two fucking?" he asked blatantly, and Mickey rolled his eyes. 

"No, asshat, although it's none of your fucking business if we are," he made sure to point out. "I've made it clear a million motherfucking times that this-" he gestured between the two of them, "-is nothing alright? That every once in a while we can fuck, but there's no feelings or gay shit, alright?"

Mason scoffed, "Right, no gay shit. Says the guy who had my dick up his ass less the five minutes ago."

"Shut the fuck up," he replied. "I'm fucking leaving. Let me know the status on that Curtis kid, since I'll probably be the one taking care of it," he said, trying to sound casual as he threw his shoes on. 

Mason pulled out a cigarette and lit it before nodding. "Will do, Mick," he said around it, breathing in. "Don't know if he wants the kid dead or not though. Guess we'll find out."

Mickey started walking out and quietly repeated, "I guess so."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short and kind of shitty but that's okay I'll update again tomorrow lol. please comment! I love feedback and I'm glad people are enjoying the story already :D

At home, Mandy was already smoking a blunt without Mickey, which wasn't that unusual, although now she'd put pants on, which was unusual. 

"Bout time you made it home, jackass," she said, taking a drag and turning her attention back to some show about house realtors. 

"You really couldn't wait for me to get home to light up? Fuck you," he said, shrugging out of his suit coat.

Mandy sat up a little straighter and sniffed the air. "Did you get laid?" she asked, eyes narrowing and Mickey's jaw dropped in surprise. 

"How the fuck do you do that!?" he burst, unsnapping his suspenders and tossing them aside, along with his shoes before he sat down next to his sister on the couch, taking the blunt from her fingers. 

She shrugged, turning her attention back to the television. "It's a gift," she said simply, taking the blunt back when Mickey handed it to her. "Was it Mason?" she asked, blowing the smoke in his face. He nodded. "I thought you were getting rid of him. What gives?"

Mickey rubbed his eyes, taking another hit. "I've been wanting to get at this one kid, but turns out he's involved with Rossi, and I'm not interested in that," he said, although it truly pained him to do so. Fuck if he didn't want that kid's dick up his ass. 

"Um, Mick? Hate to break it to you, but Mason is kind of involved with Rossi, too," she laughed, turning the volume on the TV down a little. 

He sighed deeply, leaning over and taking a few hits of the blunt before passing it back this time. "I know, but he's not on Rossi's bad side. I have a feeling he might hit me up soon to take care of Ian and I think it would be a lot easier if I didn't sleep with him first," he explained smoothly, although he knew it would be damn near impossible to kill that annoying, endearing redhead whether he slept with him or not. 

Mandy shrugged, putting out the roach in the ash tray. "Who knows, maybe after fucking him, killing him would be way more exhilarating! Plus, you could make it look like an accident... like you could choke him, then you know 'accidentally squeeze too hard' and boom, you're done!" she said with a little laugh. 

"Jesus Christ, Mandy," he replied, shaking his head. "Do you even know how erotic asphyxiation works? You don't choke them at the esophagus, you squeeze the carotid artery to cut off blood flow to the brain, then release at the last second so they-"

"Ah- stop, Mickey I don't need anymore insight into your weird kinky sex shit," she said, shuddering a little. "Anyways, I saw hit that kid up! Who gives a fuck if he was involved with Rossi, he's not in charge of you."

Mickey groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. "You don't understand, Mandy, he's a dangerous man to cross-"

"No, Mickey. You're the dangerous one. You're the one he calls to take care of people," she corrected. "He's just a little boy who likes to throw tantrums, and you're the one who cleans his messes. You are his go-to guy, the dangerous one," she said shaking her head. "I don't know why that's so hard for you to see."

Mickey contemplated for a moment. She was right. If he was Rossi's on-call hit man, then _he_ was the one to be feared, not Rossi. Maybe he could go after Ian. 

Guys like Ian had never been Mickey's type though. He preferred stone cold, nothing to say buff guys who were rough in bed, but never rough enough that he'd lose control. Ian was almost the opposite- he was warm and adorable, his mouth running constantly with endless jokes and nice greetings. He was wiry and had admirable muscles, but nothing too big. And he was a ginger. Mickey had never been with a ginger before. 

"You know what?" he looked down at his watch. 8:45pm. "Let's go get some food," he said, hitting her in the arm. 

She scoffed crossing her legs and watching as her brother stood up. "Why do I have to go?" she asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

"Do you wanna meet the hot guy or not?" he snapped and just like that, she shot up from the couch and Mickey realized she was wearing his sweatpants. "Do you have any of your own fucking clothes!?"

She shrugged, turning the television off and stretched her arms above her head. "Don't have money to buy any," she said through a yawn and he rolled his eyes. 

"Oh please," he scoffed, pulling his wallet out and tossing a stack of twenties out to toss at her. She fumbled clumsily to catch them. "Go get some shit tomorrow. And stop acting like you aren't used to money being thrown at you at this point," he said with a sly smirk. 

"Shut the fuck up, Mickey!" she groaned, gathering them from the ground and tucking the bills into her bra. "Are we fucking going or not?" she snapped and he just laughed at her, grabbing his keys and leading the way. 

They made it halfway down the hallway before an annoying, overly friendly couple stopped them. "Oh, hi, Milkoviches!!!" the squirelly blonde girl squealed with a giant grin as she waved. The siblings turned and faked a smile, waving back. 

"How are you guys doing? Haven't heard from you in a while!" the man said. They'd introduced themselves a thousand times, and yet Mickey still didn't remember what their names even sounded like. 

Michael?

Julia?

"Well, see that's because we don't wanna talk to- oof!" Mickey's snarky comment was cut off when Mandy smacked him hard in the stomach. 

"Yeah, we've been crazy busy! Just like we are now! Sorry, we've got to run so fast, but we'll see you later, Jeremy, McKayla!" Mandy said, grabbing her brother's arm and tugging him to the elevator quickly. 

Jeremy and McKayla? Well at least he got the first letters right. They rushed to the elevator, ignoring the friendly comments and invitations to dinners and wine and cheese tasting and satanic rituals. That's what he assumed they did in that damn apartment when they weren't screaming each other's names at least. 

They made it to the car uninterrupted, thankfully, and once they got there, Mandy batted her eyes at Mickey. "So... can I drive there?" she asked, smiling sweetly. He simply laughed in her face and unlocked it with his fob. "Come on, Mick, it's like two blocks!" 

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p' as he slid into the driver's seat. She pouted, but sat in the passenger's, not bother to put on her seatbelt. Almost immediately, Mickey went into overprotective older brother mode. "Click it or ticket, bitch," he said and she screamed angrily, buckling herself in. "Thank you," he sang, pulling out. 

"You are so fucking annoying," she sighed. "This guy better be fucking gorgeous or I'm gonna feel played."

Mickey chewed at his nail a bit to hide his smile. "Yeah, I don't think you'll be disappointed," he chuckled. 

"What's his name again?" she asked, propping her feet up on the dashboard. 

"Ian Gallagher," he answered quickly before glancing over. "Get your crusty ass feet off of my fucking car!" he snapped, and she rolled her eyes, stretching her legs out further. "Annoying bitch."

He pulled into the Shop and Go parking lot quicly after and Mandy shrugged as she got out of the car, barely waiting until it was in park. "Hurry the fuck up!" she yelled as he pulled the keys out of the ignition. He rolled his eyes and flipped her off.

He got out of the car, jogging to catch up to his bratty younger sister. She was already halfway through the doors by the time he reached her and then she suddenly stopped short with wide eyes. 

"Is that him?" she whispered, looking at the flawless, fiery cashier grinning and conversing with a customer. Mickey nodded and she turned to him, grasping the front of his shirt in her fists. "You jump on that dick, Mickey. You jump on it, and you never get off, do you understand me?"

He smacked her hands away. "Go find something to eat, you hormonal fuck," he said, pushing her away from him. She simply walked away and ended up behind Ian, where she pretended to thrust into him from behind and stuck out her tongue, to which he mouthed, "Classy," at her. She laughed and shrugged, then skipped off to the food.

Mickey lingered near a vending machine and waited for the customer to leave before approaching his little crush. The best thing about only going to the store after dark was that there were rarely very many people there. 

"How's it hanging, Gallagher?" he asked, leaning against the counter. "I see Rossi hasn't had you murdered yet," he added, although it was really an irrelevant thing to point out. If Rossi was going to have Ian murdered, Mickey _would_ be the one to do it, after all. 

"Mickey!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. "Not much is hanging anymore, now that you're here," he said with a wink, and Mickey felt his knees nearly buckle. He shook himself of it quickly, though, certainly not used to being that moved by shameless flirting. 

"Seems about right," he said casually. "You got that gift card you promised me?" he asked, nodding towards the register. 

Ian jumped a little with a smile, "Actually, I do!" he said, turning to shuffle through a pile of papers til finding the card and handing it to Mickey. "It's for $150."

"Dollars!? The fuck, why so much?" he asked, not taking the card from Ian's hands yet. 

He shrugged, trying to push it on Mickey. "You were really helpful- twice now, and you didn't need to be."

"Damn, Gallagher, how you got that kind of money to be throwing around?" he asked, brows furrowed. It really wasn't his place to ask, since he could throw his money around like that, too. But just because he could didn't mean he liked to, or would do so willingly. 

"I like getting money for shaking my ass and giving the occasional blowjob, remember?" he said with a grin that practically split his face in half. 

"Blowjob? Last time you said handy," he couldn't help but return the grin despite himself. "You're kind of a man whore, Gallagher."

He shrugged, and Mickey finally accepted the card. "Tell me something I don't know."

Soon, before the dark haired man could reply, his sister was bouncing over to the checkout. "Hi there!" she greeted, smiling widely before dropping a big armful of junk food onto the belt. "I'm Mandy. You're gorgeous," she giggled. 

Ian smiled, looking a little perplexed, but taking the compliment in stride while he started scanning their items. "Well, thank you, Mandy, you aren't so bad yourself," he returned, looking over at Mickey. "Not really my type, though."

Mickey looked away quickly, feeling his cheeks getting warm. 

Was he fucking _blushing!?_ He was a god damned hitman, he was in no fucking position to _blush._ What was the matter with him?

"Oh, I know," she said, "I could smell the gay on you from a mile away." He laughed good naturedly and continued scanning the arsenal of food she'd grabbed that Mickey planned on paying for with his newly obtained gift card. "So how old are you, Ian?" she asked, resting her chin in her palm against the counter. 

He laughed at her openness. "I'm twenty two," he answered, grinning. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," she shrugged. "You go to college?"

But as they continued to discuss Ian's life, Mickey knew Mandy was doing far more than 'just wondering'. Whenever they stumbled upon a put together gay man who was an appropriate ago for Mickey, she'd turn into an interviewer, rapid firing questions and seeing just how prepared the man was for he next one. 

It never turned into anything, because Mickey never had the desire for it to, but he appreciated her efforts to make him happy. They'd discussed a million times though, that having a relationship would not making Mickey happy, it would make him stressed and anxious. That sure as shit didn't stop her, though. 

"You know what, Ian? I think I like you," she said, blatant and to the point, like she always was when she was high. And when she was sober- who was he kidding? "Do you wanna hang out sometime? When do you get off work tonight?"

He smiled with excitement, taking the card from Mickey without really looking at him and swiping it. "I get off at 3," he said and she practically lit up.

"If Mickey lets me borrow his car, I could come pick you up, and you could come to my house and hang out! Do you smoke? We could smoke and watch a movie or something!" she exclaimed, beginning to jump up and down with excitement. Ian ripped the receipt from the printer and stuffed it into one of the bags.

"That sounds amazing!" he burst, and he could practically smack their heads together. How was he supposed to fuck the kid with Mandy all over him already? He should've known better than to bring her. 

"Can I borrow your car tonight, Mick? Please?" she begged.

"Yeah, Mick, please?" Ian added, and looked at Mickey with so much desperation that he doubted he could say no to anything he asked with that expression.

"I- -uh..o-okay"


	6. Chapter 6

Mickey must have unsurprisingly fallen asleep before 3am, because by the time his mine woke up, the smell of bacon and pancakes was wafting through the air. He sat up from his spot on the couch, surprised to find himself covered and tucked in with a blanket.

"Morning, Mick," a man's voice greeted perkily. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes before looking up to see a certain ginger standing over him with a plate. 

"What the fuck, Gallagher?" he groaned, throwing a hand over his face. "Were you just sitting here waiting for me to fucking wake up?" It didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have when the redhead simply shrugged and sat on the couch by his legs. He had the notion to kick him off, but paused curiously when he felt a warmth in his chest at their contact. 

"Well, yeah, Mandy and I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed! Or breakfast on couch I guess," he laughed, presenting the plate to Mickey. There was a stack of pancakes accompanied by two whip cream eyes and a bacon smile. He raised an eyebrow skeptically and looked up at an eager Ian, waiting to see Mickey's reaction to the meal. 

He picked up a slice of bacon, analyzing it for a moment. "You expect me to eat this?" he asked before placing it in his mouth. 

Ian's eyebrows furrowed in amusement, "I... what?"

"Well you're damn right I'm gonna eat it," he said, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Where is Mandy?" he asked as he shoveled the food into his mouth. 

"Oh she ran to the store to get some more orange juice, something about you using all of it in your screwdrivers," he replied, laughing. "Do you like it?" Ian asked, leaning forward to gauge Mickey's reaction. 

He shoved at the redhead, uncomfortable with just how comfortable he was when Ian got closer to him. "I've had better," he shrugged nonchalantly. 

Ian's precious little face fell a little before perking up again, "Well, do you want more whipped cream?"

As his resolve crumbled to dust, Mickey couldn't help the amused smile crossing his face. "Yeah, Gallagher I want more whipped cream."

He seemed to pull it from nowhere to hand it to Mickey, giggling at his suspicious glare. "I knew you'd want more. Everyone always wants more," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. Mickey rolled his eyes, choking a little when Ian added, "Plus you seem like the type who'd value his whipped cream."

His reaction caused Ian to burst into laughter again, and this time Mickey did kick him off the couch, grinning at the thud and yelp ringing throughout the room. Ian definitely wasn't subtle about his urges, but Mickey was. He had to be, even when he wanted nothing more than for the kid to bend him over the kitchen table. If Mickey wanted to live at least a few years longer, he'd do everything in his power not to get involved with Ian Gallagher in any way other than platonic. Shit, even being platonic with him was pushing it. If either one of his boyfriends found out about Mickey's desire for the stupid ginger, they'd have his fingertips burned off and his teeth pulled before dumping his body in a field in the middle of nowhere. 

He was conflicted through and through, though, and now confused about his position in Rossi's circle. Sure, he was like a personal worker for him, but that didn't mean he didn't have other resources to kill Mickey. Of course, there was an unspoken pact in Chicago crime that the hit men would try their damnedest not to harm one another or one another's families. In fact, Mickey was friends with most of the other ones in the Southside, so he doubted he would be killed for messing around with Ian. Of course, he wasn't the one he was most worried about. If anyone was going to be killed whether they decided to fuck around or not, it would be Gallagher. The kid already dug himself a deep hole with at least one confirmed lover in the mafia, and another one who seemed almost as dangerous as the other. 

"You rude fucker!" Ian burst from his place on the floor, but Mickey could hear the smile in his voice. Before he could mutter a sarcastic response, his plate was torn from his hands and Ian was standing up and walking away. 

"Hey- fuckin- Gallagher, you shithead, give it back," he pleaded, and rolled his eyes when he didn't elicit a response. He begrudgingly got up from his spot on the sofa and followed after the ginger, rushing forward when Ian's foot pushed on the pedal of the garbage can. His arms slotted under Ian's in an attempt to grab the plate, but he jerked it from Mickey's reach. Instead of going for the plate that was far too high for his short ass to reach, he pulled Ian back from the garbage, sighing when he dropped the plate on a counter with a clink. 

However, his breath caught in his throat when Ian spun around and wrestled him til his back was against the wall and his hands were pinned above his head. Well, fuck. 

If Ian leaned in any closer, there was absolutely no way he'd be able to keep his pants on, especially with the ginger's fingers tightening around his wrists like that. He swallowed and watched as Ian looked over his face, and Mickey found himself subconsciously arching off the wall a little just as the door to the apartment opened. 

"I'm back, boy- what are you doing?" Mandy asked, immediately suspicious as the two broke apart and went about separate business. Mickey started eating again, visibly shaken, and Ian flicked the flame to the stove on, pouring more pancake batter into the pan, cool as ever.

"Making more," he shrugged casually. "That damn brother of yours is like a vacuum cleaner."

Mandy smirked and dropped the bags onto the kitchen table. "Yeah, I've heard he's pretty good at sucking shit up," she said pointedly. Mickey turned his attention to the food, trying to act like nothing had happened- even though nothing _had_ happened. Eventually, he realized that with the heat and curiosity of Mandy's gaze, he'd never be able to chill out and walked back into the living room, not wasting any time to turn on the television and flick on That 70's show.

He cleared his throat and finished up the pancakes relatively quickly, setting the plate on the coffee table and standing abruptly. 

"Where the fuck are you going, hot shot?" Mandy asked, smacking the back of her brother's head. Mickey turned and glared at her. 

"If you _must_ know, I'm gonna go change then try to do everything I was supposed to yesterday that the _red headed fuck_ kept me from doing," he said, raising his voice at the insult so Ian would hear him. 

"Oh, we'll go with you! Do you wanna go with him, Ian?" she asked, not even turning around when she asked. Ian swaggered over and threw an arm around Mandy's shoulders. 

"I'd be delighted to go with you, Mickey," he responded and Mickey rolled his eyes, mumbling something about making it look like an accident as he walked away.

* * *

 

Half an hour later, everyone had piled into Mickey's prized Mustang, and after ten minutes of refusing to let either of his companions drive, he started the engine. 

"Can we turn on some music?" Mandy asked from the passenger seat just as Ian's voice came from the back, "Could you hand me the aux chord?"

They both gasped and turned to one another. "Aww!" 

Mickey tightened his hand on the wheel as he drove out of the familiar structure. "Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered, trying to collect himself. 

Mandy took the liberty of passing the cable back to Ian, who played some gay shit immediately. "So, Mickey, where's our first stop?" she asked shifting comfortably in her seat.

"Put your damn seat belt on," he said, and immediately two pairs of hands scrambled for the belts and buckled themselves in. "I have to go to the fucking bank-" he tilted to rear view mirror so he could glare at Ian in the back "-because _someone_ and his psycho boyfriend kept me from doing what I needed to do."

Ian shrugged, unaffected by Mickey's belittling as he corrected, " _Ex-_ boyfriend."

Mickey simply fixed the mirror and rolled his eyes, "Yeah good luck with that."

What he had witnessed in the bank was nowhere near the end of that relationship. He'd seen mob relationships that had "ended" nearly twenty times before they finally came to a close, and more often than not, Mickey was the one who brought that "close" about. He sighed, hating the unsettling feeling that invaded his gut when he thought about the fact that any day he could get a request to have Ian taken care of. 

He shook his head of the thought. That stupid, abrasive, stomach turning thought that had been haunting him for days. 

"Well, anyways, do you want either of us to come in with you?" Mandy asked in an odd moment of sweetness before she popped her feet onto the dash. 

"No, thank you, I'd prefer to make this as professional as possible," he declined, scoffing a little at the thought of the two idiots waddling into the bank after him, giggling and skipping around. It almost made his heart melt. "Mandy if you don't get your fucking feet down I will not hesitate to break your knees, do you understand me?"

She groaned loudly, tossing around in her seat as though it physically pained her to move her legs. "Mickey, why are you so god damn angry and violent about _everything_ all the fucking _time?_ Sometimes happy people just put their feet up on dash boards, okay?" she replied, flopping her feet onto the floor and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yeah well I'm clearly not a 'happy people' so shut the fuck up and do what I say," he said playfully as he turned into the bank's parking lot. He grabbed his wallet from the center console and shoved it into his back pocket before turning to the people who'd invited themselves to go along with him. "Now look, I'm gonna be gone for maybe twenty minutes tops, all right? I expect you to stay in the car and stay in this parking spot. I'm gonna leave my keys so you don't die of heat exhaustion, but if I come back out to find that you took my baby for a joy ride, I will not hesitate to skin you alive and hang your bodies on my rear view mirror as a keep sake. Got it?"

Both Ian and Mandy looked unenthused by his little threat and simply shrugged in response. "Yeah, whatever, go do your shit so we can leave," Mandy said, waving her hand to get him out. 

"Fucking Christ," he sighed as he unbuckled and got out of the car, being sure to shut the door carefully behind him as he sauntered over to the building. He cracked his knuckles before stepping through the automatic glass doors and walking up to the front desk, coming face to face with the same flirty woman as yesterday.

"Hello, how may I help- oh, hi! Just couldn't keep away, now could you?" she asked with a giggle, leaning forward and placing her chin in her palm. 

"Hard to do that when I'm kind of running away from one of your deranged workers," he replied. "Never actually got to close my account yesterday."

She gasped, and one of her manicured hands flew to her breasts. "Oh my goodness, you're right! I hadn't even realized, I'm so sorry, sir, that is so embarrassing, I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to file a report, I- oh dear, that was so unprofessional," she said, shaking her head. 

Mickey, uncomfortable with the constant apologies and all over sympathy the woman was exuding tapped his knuckles distractedly on the desk and replied, "Really, it's okay, I just wanna get it over with and close it."

"Of course, of course," she replied with a shaky sigh. Mickey rambled off his name to her again, followed by his account number and was told that a Ms. Dorlak would be meeting with him momentarily. "Well, you won't have to worry about Damion in this bank for a few days, he was suspended for a week," she said before Mickey had a chance to turn away and escape the painful conversation. 

"I won't have to worry about him in this bank, _ever,_ because I'm closing my account," he responded and she laughed, far too loudly for what Mickey had said. He groaned inwardly at her sad attempt at flirting and quickly walked away to sit down in the same chair he did yesterday.

He sat quietly for a while, fiddling with his phone and scrolling through some emails and requests. He truthfully didn't need another job for a very long time- he could wait a year, maybe two. But he wanted to save up as much as he could quickly, so he wouldn't have to maintain this job forever. He ended up looking through old assignments he'd had, before a certain last name was made very familiar to him and his eyes went wide. 

"Mikhail Milkovich?" a sweet, high voice called and he swallowed before looking up to find the subject of the familiarity. Irene Dorlak. She was the wife of Jacob Dorlak, someone who had been... taken care of a few months earlier. She didn't know what Mickey looked like, or his real name, but he knew her. After watching her and her husband for almost three weeks, he'd found her to be quite the bitch. She treated Jacob like a king, yet cheated on him behind his back at every turn and eventually had him killed. So she kept the last name, but was going by "Ms." now, huh?

"Yes, hello, Ms. Dorlak," he greeted smoothly, slipping into character easily. He reached out his hand to shake hers. 

"I understand you're looking to close your account?" she asked with a smile, leading him through a row of cubicles, where he avoided contact with nearly all the other workers before sliding into a seat across from her. He nodded. "Alright, well first, you will either have to withdrawal or transfer your savings."

"I'd like to withdrawal it," he said, folding his hands into his lap. Being so formal and polite with people had become like a second nature to Mickey, especially when working with clients, although face to face made him a little uncomfortable. He dealt with it easily, but that didn't stop the shifting he felt he had to do and suppressed. 

"Okay, looks like you have- oh! Nearly sixty thousand dollars in this account," she said, furrowing her eyebrows. You'd like to take that all in cash- right now?" He nodded and she chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "We do have a cap on how much you can withdrawal from our bank in one day, and that is twenty thousand dollars- however, we could transfer your money to another account, even at another bank if you'd like, and still close it today."

He breathed in deeply through his nose and tried to stay calm as he sighed heavily. "Um, alright, I guess I'll withdrawal the twenty grand, then transfer the rest to my Wells Fargo account," he said, licking his lips. She simply nodded and went about typing on her computer. Her long, manicured finger nails clacked loudly on the keyboard, making Mickey unreasonably anxious. She asked him to fill out a form for his account at Wells Fargo and went about typing what he'd written into the computer without so much as a word.

She grabbed a small form from the far side of the desk and scribbled out some numbers onto it before handing it to Mickey and rising from her seat. "Alright, Mr. Milkovich, we just have to collect your money and have you sign a few forms, then you'll be all set to go," she said, leading Mickey back to the front of the bank. She took the slip from him once they approached the desk, and a different woman than before went bustling about in the back before returning with two pieces of paper. She handed them to Irene, then started counting bills from a register. "I need you to sign here, here and initial... here," she told him, putting X's where he'd be writing his name. 

He signed quickly, wanting to get out of the fucking bank as soon as possible. He tapped his foot impatiently while the woman behind the counter put the bills through a machine, then into an envelope, where she handed them to Mickey. "Thanks," he replied, and she simply inclined her head. 

"Okay, Mr. Milkovich, you're all set to go," Irene smiled what Mickey could tell was a fake, well practiced customer service smile. "Processing may take a few days, but you should receive an email once all the paperwork goes through and the account is officially closed. Thank you for doing business with us." He nodded in response and pocketed the money before shaking her hand again and getting the fuck out of there. 

Once he made it outside he was pissed, but not surprised, to see that his car was missing. "God _damn it!"_ he burst, almost growling. Immediately, his phone was out and he was calling his sister, chewing on the inside of his lip to keep from smashing the phone on the ground. 

"Hello?" Ian answered, laughter evident in his voice. He heard a muffled "Woohoo!" from Mandy, who was probably racing around ever corner. 

"Where the fuck are you two!?" he snapped, but it lacked the threatening edge he tried to keep in his voice. Really there was no way he could stay that mad at the two of them, despite the fact that he'd barely even known Ian four days. 

"We went to get some McDonald's because you- _brake lights, Mandy!_ You've just seemed so stressed out and we wanted to do something nice for you," he said and Mickey rubbed a hand over his face. "We thought you were going to be gone for at least twenty minutes."

"I said twenty minutes _at the most,_ you deaf fucking idiot! How long until you get back, I'm not in the mood to sit at this god awful fucking bank," he barked. 

"Well, see, the thing is, we aren't even _at_ McDonald's yet," he said, and Mickey could practically see the redhead scratching the back of his neck.  

"Then turn around and pick me up! Mandy already fucking knows how I feel about her messy ass eating in my damn car," he said, the pout evident in his voice.

"He wants us to turn back and get him," Ian relayed to Mandy. 

"But he's such a killjoy," she groaned. 

Mickey rolled his eyes and walked over to a bench outside of the building, waiting for the bickering to end. "Okay, Mick, we'll be there in like five minutes," Ian said. 

"You better make damn sure it's less than that, Gallagher."


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Mandy and Ian had returned for him, Mickey had had over half an hour to simply stew in his own anger and think of the ways he was going to murder his sister. They pulled up in front of where he'd just flopped on the pavement, and lit a cigarette. He didn't bother standing as Ian smiled apologetically and Mandy cackled loudly. 

"Get in you fucker!" she said, and Mickey remained on the ground. "If you don't get in I'll just be pissed that you made us go out of our way from what could be a fun day of shopping to come here." He raised his eyebrows a little and took a drag, and Ian made a weird noise that he neglected to acknowledge. "Mick, come on- we got you a Big Mac," she offered, finally caving and kissing ass a little. He was going to ride the ass-kissing wave as far as it would take him. "I'll buy you something," she offered, and he rolled his eyes. "I'll take care of the bills until the end of the year?" He blew the smoke out slowly. "What do you want from me?!"

Mickey stood finally, grabbing the coat he'd thrown on the pavement for him to sit on. "Get out of the car," he said, nodding his head to gesture her away. She hesitated, no doubt because he'd abandoned her in random places before to fend for herself when she'd been particularly bitchy. "Come on, I want to drive, I won't leave you, although I should," he said, walking around to the driver's side and waiting for her to get out. She walked over to the other side of the car as he slid in and adjusted the seat back to his height. 

Mandy opened the passenger door and started tugging on Ian, "Alright, man, come on I get shotgun-"

"Gallagher stays," Mickey said, closing his door and shifting gears distractedly. His cigarette shifted between his lips as he spoke and Mandy scoffed. He looked up to see both of them staring at him in surprise. "What? Get in the goddamn backseat or I'll leave your ass." She rolled her eyes but obeyed, shutting Ian's door and crawling into the back. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like how it felt to have Ian sitting across from him in the car like that. It felt strangely domestic and made Mickey kind of warm and fuzzy inside. He'd deal with the repercussions later- it's not like he was banging the kid. 

"Yeah, Mandy," Ian said, reaching over while Mickey turned into traffic and taking the cigarette from between his lips. "I stay," he smirked, and he looked over in rapt fascination and surprise as Ian raised it to his mouth, hallowing his cheeks as he breathed in. Mickey's breath caught audibly and his mouth nearly watered. 

"You good, Mick?" Mandy's teasing voice came unexpected from the bad seat and he snapped back to attention, playing it off as irritation with Ian for taking his smoke. 

He turned his eyes back to the road. "Give that back you son of a bitch," he said, holding his hand out and jolting when, instead of putting it between his fingers, Ian gently placed it between Mickey's lips. He swallowed and tried not to make anything of it as Ian's fingers brushed his cheek when he pulled away. "Where's that damn Big Mac you promised me?" he asked pointedly, glancing at Mandy in the rear view mirror. 

"Oh yeah, we haven't stopped at McDonald's yet," she told him innocently, and he looked down at the two soft drinks with the McDonald's logo on them in his cup holders.

"Mandy," he said calmly. "Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?"

"Well-"

"Shut the fuck up! I have more errands to run," he interrupted, slamming on the brakes excessively hard for a red light after noticing that she wasn't wearing a seat belt. She flew forward gracelessly and he and Ian snickered. 

"We were gonna go shopping, though-"

"You really wanna try to argue with me right-"

Ian's hand on his arm stopped him this time. Why was he being to touchy with Mickey? "I needed to pick some shit up since Damion is being a dick and not giving my shit back," Ian admitted and just like that, Mickey was was won over. 

He guessed for as long as Ian had left before one of the two of his little pals had him murdered, he could indulge himself a little. "Fine, we can go when I'm done," he caved and Mandy scoffed from the back, making a whip sound affect. "I'll slam on the brakes again, you cunt!"

She simply cackled and Ian blushed a little but looked straight ahead. "Where else do you have to go?" 

"Gotta break some kneecaps and get paid," he said, forgetting momentarily that Ian was in the car. But if Ian was involved with Rossi he knew all about that already. There was a noise of recognition from the back and he just sniffed and rolled his shoulders. Really the guy he was meeting with, Samuel Davinci, was a colleague of his in the area and they were going to talk about potential risks they'd been facing. They had the meetings three times a year to make sure they were safe about everything. They discussed tactics without ever giving away their personal tricks, and made sure they knew enough shit about one another to keep from ever ratting each other out. 

"'Break some kneecaps' what are you, some sort of gangster?" Ian laughed from the passenger seat and Mickey locked eyes with Mandy, both of theirs wide and a little confused. Mickey turned and looked at the redhead now, his confusion evident. "W-what?" he asked, still laughing, albeit a little awkwardly now. 

"Ian, what... what do you think I do for a living?" he asked gently, and Ian's eyebrows furrowed as he shrugged. Mickey wasn't about to spill his deepest darkest secrets to this kid, nor confess his long list of sins, but he was curious as to what the ginger expected from him. 

"I... I don't really know," he said. "Something at night though, since that's the only time you ever come into the store," he shrugged, studying Mickey's body. Mickey shifted uncomfortable. "Something that pays well, looking at that suit. And your car," he said. "What _do_ you do for a living?"

Mickey pulled over a few blocks from where Davinci lived. He'd never seen Mickey's car before, and that wasn't going to change today. "I'm a businessman," he lied smoothly. In all reality, it wasn't _that_ far fetched of a thing to say. He ran his own little private business, and he was in fact a man. 

"Oh! Well, you know whatever works," he laughed, easing quickly.

"Alright well... you two stay in the car, I'm gonna go visit Sam," he said, then leaned over Ian to rifle (pardon the pun) through his glove compartment. His fingers found the legal handgun and he popped it into his inner jacket pocket. 

"Woah, what the hell man!" Ian burst, throwing his hands up. 

He rolled his eyes. "This is a dangerous neighborhood, Gallagher. What, you wanna see my permit?" he asked, leaning around him again to shut the compartment door, and deliberately taking his time and savoring in Ian's closeness until he realized what he was doing. He jolted away quickly. "Savoring in Ian's closeness"? What the fuck was the matter with him recently?

"You're sure you should go in to see Sam packing heat?" Mandy asked distractedly from her seat, observing her nails. 

"Why not? We won't hurt each other," he shrugged. "No biggie. Now, you two take this care _anywhere_ unless there's someone trying to break in and kill you and I won't hesitate to finish their job myself, you understand?" They both nodded obediently and he nodded once in response. "Good."

With that he got out and closed the door behind him, adjusting his coat and walking to Sam's house confidently. Their discussions were always pretty short, sweet and to the point, so he wouldn't be gone too long. It was only two blocks straight down and one to the left from where he'd parked, so he got there in about two minutes, not wasting any time hopping up the steps of the duplex and ringing the top bell. 

Almost immediately, the door opened and Mickey was greeted with the overwhelming smell of weed, ammonia and vinegar. He cleared his throat to keep from coughing and making himself look like a vanilla asshole. He was quickly greeted with Sam's bright smile.

Sam was the type of guy whom you'd never expect to be a hit man, not that Mickey _was._ He had sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes and never stopped smiling. And it was a sweet, genuine smile. Often times it was ignited by a cocktail of drugs, but that didn't make it any less genuine. From one look you could tell he was the star quarterback and straight A student. Mickey wasn't quite sure what had happened to him, but he _was_  sure that the  combination of those smells were sure signs of a meth lab.

"Hey, Mickey, how are you doing?" He greeted, reaching out his hand for Mickey to shake. He obliged quickly, trying to return the smile. 

"I'm alright, man, and you?" he replied, following Sam in.

"Come on in, let's go upstairs!" he urged, ushering Mickey in. He prayed silently that the meth lab was downstairs so he wouldn't have to smell it anymore. 

They ran up the creaky stairs of the building and soon Mickey realized he wouldn't be very lucky, because when Sam opened the door, he was greeted with the sight of red-stained coffee filters, rubber gloves, funnels and what looked to be a fully stocked science lab of chemicals. He almost gagged at how strongly it smelled of cat urine. 

They sat down on a torn up futon, and Mickey made sure not to make mention of the middle aged man passed out on the chair across from them, a beer and a bong in each of his hands. He turned back to Sam, shrugging off the strange setting and preparing to finish their "meeting" in ten minutes tops. 

"So, have you had any run ins, Mick? Anything I should worry about?" he asked.

Within half an hour, Mickey was out, with more shit on Samuel than he'd had before and more reason for Sam never to rat on him. He kept offering Mickey random cocktails of drugs for a "crazy good deal" that he declined every time, as politely as possible. He got out as quickly as possibly, fighting the urge to grab some of the meth from his kitchen and jogged down the steps. The walk back to the car felt longer than the one there, but that could've been because he forgot where he'd parked twice before realizing the jackasses had taken his car again. 

He let out an angered shout and called Mandy, grumbling under his breath the whole time until a voice that made his heart speed up answered. "I told her not to go, Mick, I tried," he said immediately, causing Mickey to smile despite himself. 

"Where the fuck are you?" he said although the laughter was more than evident in his voice. 

"Coming down the street you fuck head, we see your short ass right now," Mandy's voice came from across the car and about ten seconds later, his sweet, clean and freshly waxed baby pulled up next to him with a screech. Mandy leaned over Ian out the window. "We got it cleaned to make it up to you, jackass, a thanks would be rather appreciated."

"Get the _fuck_ out my car, Mandy," he growled, and Ian shifted uncomfortably, lifting a joint to his lips. "Were you driving her high!? You are _reckless_ when you're high Mandy, you know I don't trust you."

She mocked his voice until she made it to the backseat. "Ask Ian, I didn't smoke anything yet," she promised, and he cleared his throat and avoided eye contact while Mickey walked around the car to the driver's seat. 

He put his hand out for the joint, and looked over roughly at Ian when he realized he wasn't getting it and understood almost instantly. The smirk on the ginger's face was wide and mischievous, twirling the burning joint between his long fingers. Mickey opened his mouth just enough for Ian to place it between his lips. He leaned forward, taking his time placing the rolled up paper into Mickey's mouth, making sure it was wedged  between his teeth before he pulled away.

The intimacy of the gesture wasn't lost on Mickey as he sucked in deeply, and took notice of the small whip noise Mandy made from the backseat. He rolled his eyes and took a few hits before handing it back, not waiting for Ian to grab it before rolling out onto the street and trying to shake himself of the jitters he'd gotten from Ian's touch. 

"Oh shit!" Mandy burst from the back. Mickey looked at her from the mirror with a raised eyebrow. "I totally forgot I have to work today at 2," she sighed, making it apparent that she was playing both of them. Mickey was skeptical and Ian immediately starting pouting. "I'm sorry, Ian, honey, I need money, though."

Bullshit. Mickey had more than enough money for the both of them. She just wanted Ian and Mickey to be alone together. "Oh really? How tragic," he replied blandly. "Where should I drop you off?"

"At home," she said cheerfully and he rolled his eyes at her lack of understanding of anything. 

He shook his head and bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Alright, Mandy, I'll drop you off. Still wanna get your shit, Ian?" he asked. 

Ian shifted before throwing the roach out the window. "If you wouldn't mind, it'd be nice," he admitted and Mickey nodded. 

They made it home in almost record time and Mickey's heart started to speed up when Mandy hopped out, winking at them and making a whip cracking gesture at Mickey behind Ian's back. He pulled out rather quickly and tried his best to bury his feelings and stop himself from glancing at the hot, charming, funny redhead. 

Dammit, it'd be so much easier to do that if he didn't think of all the descriptions that were connotative with Ian. "So, you hungry?" his mouth formed the words before his brain could catch up. 

"Yeah, actually, I could eat," he shrugged in response and Mickey groaned internally. Taking Ian out to eat was just like... taking him out on a date. And Mickey didn't _do_ dates. Mickey did halfhearted fucks in motels and the occasional handy in a hard alleyway. What he definitely _didn't_ do was imagine a guy's mouth while their chewing, or watch their cheeks hollow when they took a drag of a joint.  He didn't imagine the way his lips would feel on his or the way their tongue would feel on his neck. He'd never imagined having an interest in someone like that, or thought anything like that about anyone. 

He pulled into the parking lot of a nice, local restaurant and unbuckled, turning to ask Ian if it was an alright place to go when suddenly he didn't have to imagine anymore. Ian's lips were pressed against his, and his hand was cupping Mickey's face roughly. The rough feel of his hands mixed with the soft mouth pressing and sucking on his would've made Mickey go cross-eyed, had his eyelids not fluttered shut. 

He was helpless to Ian's advances, kissing back almost immediately. He hadn't had much practice with his mouth since high school, but with Ian, he matched the pace almost immediately. When he parted his lips, Mickey practically burst, grabbing Ian's waist and pulling him roughly into his lap. He fluidly grabbed his seat's adjuster and reclined it almost 180 degrees, pulling Ian on top of him. Ian moaned, letting his tongue slide into Mickey's mouth, running his fingers up the sides of Mickey's face and threading his fingers through his hair. The dark haired man held Ian's thighs with an iron grip, knowing he'd cause bruises and groaning at the thought. At the sound, Ian tugged sharply at his hair and he went almost crazy at all the sensations. 

Kissing Ian was everything he'd been imagining the past few days and more. His chest was burning and he felt almost like sobbing at all the lust swelling through his stomach. He grew more eager and met Ian's tongue with his own roughly, his breath catching as Ian ground his hips downwards. 

The ginger pulled away and started working at Mickey's neck, kissing and sucking harshly in all the right places. He moaned breathily at the soft, tender lips working at his neck, and his eyes flew open when Ian's teeth dug into his neck and he let out an uninhibited groan. Ian ran his tongue over the spot, and Mickey shivered- so he definitely like the mixture of rough and sweet that Ian seemed to have. He ground his hips down again and ran his fingertips gently down Mickey's face, and he gasped. 

"Oh, fuck, Mick-" 

The words were enough to bring Mickey crashing back to the Earth and realized just what he was doing. Not only was he doing the one thing that he never wanted to do, but he was signing both of their death certificates.

"Gallagher, off," he commanded, breathing heavily, and Ian obeyed, turning back into his seat gracefully. He fixed his seat upright and cleared his throat, running a hand through his messy hair, looking at it with a strange sense of satisfaction knowing Ian made it so untamable. "So anyways, is this place good for you?"

"Yeah, I want some biscuits and gravy," he said, breathing heavily and coughing a little. 

"Well alright," Mickey said and they both got out of the car and headed to the door as though nothing had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey my dudes, i'm loving writing this, and please keep commenting <3 I'll update again soon!!


	8. Chapter 8

Almost two weeks later and both Mickey and Ian had successfully managed not to jump one another again and not to address the one time they had. It had been particularly difficult for Mickey not to say anything to Mandy about it, but since they both had such great acting skills- or were good at lying, whichever you prefer- she hadn't questioned them too heavily about it. However, the second she was alone with Mickey, she'd used her weird, unnatural ability to smell out whenever he was getting laid and asked him a few questions about Mason before dropping it completely. 

Now, Ian was sitting only a few feet from Mickey on their couch as they watched The Office. He raised a joint to his lips, well aware of the ginger's eyes digging into the side of his face. He couldn't tell if Ian wanted to kiss him again or just take his smoke, but he didn't care. It was distracting, and he thanked any and all gods out there when his attention finally turned back to the television. 

"Alright, boys, I'm off to work, send me your good vibes," Mandy pleaded as she threw her heavy purse over her shoulder and lingered at the door to look back at the boys. "Let's just pray no creepy old men grope me tonight."

"Why would they grope you if you're 'just a bartender'?" Mickey mocked, not even taking his eyes off the screen as he took a drag of his joint. 

Ian pushed him gently on the arm as he said to Mandy, "If anyone does anything just text us and we'll be there. Mick will break some kneecaps, right, Mick?" he turned to look expectantly at the dark haired man, who simply shrugged. 

Despite his apathetic response, he was sure both Ian and Mandy knew that if anyone laid a finger on his sister without her consent, they wouldn't live to see another day. For most people that was simply an empty threat, but for Mickey, he'd genuinely think through a million painful, torturous ways to kill someone who treated Mandy wrong. 

"Love you, too, big bro," she laughed, rolling her eyes and finally opened the door. "If I call you tonight can you-"

"I'll be there," he assured. It was an unspoken deal the two of them had. No matter what time of night or early morning either of them were in a situation where they needed a ride, the other would be there no questions asked. Mickey picked Mandy up more often than the latter picked up the former, but that wasn't because she couldn't handle herself as well as Mick, it was because she worked in bad neighborhood that he didn't trust. 

"You boys have fun, now!" she said as she left, slowly shutting the door behind her, but not before she peeked her head out at a crack and added, "Just make sure it's protected fun!" With that she shut the door and Mickey sighed, taking the last few drags his joint would allow before stubbing out the roach and reaching for a cigarette from the coffee table. 

He paused mid-reach when Ian stood up and started walking away. He studied the ginger's ass as he moved before shaking his head and looking away, shuffling through his things for a lighter. Just then Mickey realized that he and Ian hadn't been alone since their incident last week. Suddenly he was on edge and distracted as he kept searching for a damn lighter. He didn't quite trust himself alone around Ian, now more than ever. He'd thought that making sure Mandy was around whenever they were together would help him to stop noticing little things about Ian, or keep him from studying Ian's mouth or arms or the way Mickey's name formed on his lips but he was dead wrong. If anything, it'd gotten worse and now his stomach turned and flipped even more than it had last week. 

He had convinced himself that he'd already forgotten how Ian's mouth felt when it was pressed on his, told himself that their kiss didn't matter and wouldn't happen again when the truth was he would never forget how it felt. He'd never experienced anything _like_ their kiss; then again, since Mickey wasn't too keen on kisses, he didn't have much to compare it to, but it held no comparison to what he had felt in the past. It wasn't just their mouths that mattered, it was the fluttering in his stomach, or the way his throat seemed to close as emotion flowed through him. Emotion he didn't know he could feel after only knowing someone a few short days. And now those days were forming into weeks and the emotion only grew stronger. 

The unlit cigarette hung from his lips, moving as he muttered empty threats about what he'd do if he didn't find a fucking lighter. The more he searched, the more he considered finding Ian and slamming him against a wall just to kiss the stupid kid again. 

"Looking for this?" the voice that sent chills down his back asked, and he looked up from where he'd been looking under the couch cushions to see Ian with a lighter in his hand. 

"Where the fuck was it?" Mickey asked, dropping the cushion. The question sounded uncertain and shaky even to his own ears and he silently cursed himself. It was way easier to keep up the act when Mandy was around because he had someone to prove something to, but Ian would be a fucking idiot not to see that he at least eye fucked him every time their eyes met. 

He shrugged and sat down next to Mickey again, this time letting their shoulder brush. The dark haired man put his hand out for the lighter to be placed in it, and there was a moment's hesitation before Ian dropped it into his palm. For some reason, Mickey found himself disappointed that Ian didn't completely invade his personal bubble again and light the cigarette between Mick's lips himself. He reached up to cup the air around the butt of the light and his eyebrows furrowed when Ian turned to face him and plucked it from his mouth. 

Instead of lighting it and taking it for himself, he did exactly what Mickey had been hoping for and brought their mouths together, tossing the cigarette away. Ian was definitely what he'd prefer in his mouth at that moment. He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and kissed back, loving the way Ian's hands were immediately on his face. 

He let the lighter fall onto the floor and started scooting back on the couch so Ian could fall neatly between Mickey's legs and kiss him at a better angle. He laid back against the cushions, raising his hands to grip the ginger's wrists, on either side of his face. Ian parted his lips, not wasting any time meeting his counterparts tongue with his and taking time to stroke Mickey's before dropping his hands to the hem of Mickey's Led Zeppelin t-shirt. His ran his fingers up the shorter man's torso, and he arched against Ian's hands, his skin hot and electric under the cold fingers now gripping his waist. 

Mickey took the opportunity to thread his fingers into the fiery hair of his partner, pulling sharply at the roots and admiring his face when Ian gasped a little and pulled away, locking their eyes for just a moment before moving to kiss Mickey's neck again. Before his lips could reach the skin, though, he tugged Mick's shirt over his head and looked at the hard, panting chest before going straight for an open mouthed kiss to his neck. 

Mickey hummed a little at the scraping of teeth on the sensitive skin, and kept his hands in the redhead's hair, tugging and twisting at it whenever Ian would work at a particularly sensitive spot. He prayed silently that he would have hickeys later, simply to have proof that this was actually happening again. After the last time, he'd almost convinced himself that he'd imagined their little make out session in the car, which wasn't hard since neither of them addressed it, and the only thing that proved it was real was the small, faint bruise he'd had on his neck. 

There was no way he'd have a clear neck now, though, not with how hard Ian was biting him and sucking at the skin until it almost hurt. Finally, though, it was enough and Mickey needed to kiss his stupid mouth again, so he wrenched Ian upwards and kissed him, shifting so his legs were crossed over each of the ginger's, giving him the invitation to grind against him just as he had last time. 

Mickey let his hands flutter down to Ian's jaw, where he couldn't help but stroke his skin with his thumb. The kiss slowed a little, turning from fervent and needy to passionate and exploring. Their tongues worked more languidly and their lips pressed less angrily. Ian let Mickey take charge, and pulled back slightly even though he was on top, just letting the darker man search him for a while and Mickey was more than grateful. He wanted to feel every all of Ian, run his fingers along every inch of skin and never stop fucking kissing him. 

He couldn't fathom how he'd forced himself to pull away before. Rossi and Damion had, if anything, left his mind completely in that moment and were the absolute least of his concerns as Ian's fingers started unbuttoning Mickey's jeans. 

Suddenly, though, they were harshly interrupted by an obnoxious Marimba ringtone coming from the coffee table. They tried to ignore it at first, at least Mickey did, but to no avail. Ian sat up- without moving off of Mickey's lap- and nodded to the phone, trying to catch his breath as the other man answered. 

"Fucking _what!?"_ he snapped and Ian chuckled breathily, shifting nervously on Mickey's lap. If he was gonna finish the phone call, Ian was really gonna have to stop doing that. 

"You know that kid you had in your car with you a few weeks ago?" Mason's voice was arguably the _last_ he'd wanted to hear then and he sighed deeply rubbing at his face. "Well Rossi gave me a picture of this Curtis guy, and I'm pretty sure it's the same twink kid you were driving around. Where did you meet him? Did he tell you that he had a different name? What were you even doing with him? Do you know where he is now? I guess he and Rossi have been fucking around for a while, but he hasn't been in touch for almost a month now," Mickey shifted, implying that he wanted Ian off and sat up normally on the couch, letting his head drop into his hand as he listened. "Don't think he wants the kid dead, so don't worry about that, just wants to talk to him, you know? Did you two fuck?"

Mickey rubbed his face, letting it sink in that Mason knew he was with Ian. Or at least thought he knew. "Alright um... no, he didn't tell me that was his name. I haven't seen him since, and he slipped me a twenty to take him to some other guys house. We didn't fuck, although I wouldn't have been averse to doing so, and it's none of your business either way, jackass," Mickey said, groaning inwardly. 

"So basically that means you definitely _did_ fuck him, and you're the one who gave _him_  a twenty for it," Mason responded and Mickey groaned. He didn't know why he even bothered trying to tell this guy _anything_  because he wouldn't fucking listen. "He looked like a bit of a slippery dude, so I'm guessing you were telling the truth about not knowing where he is and that you didn't know his name was Curtis. Well alright, do you want me to let you know if we find him? Wouldn't want you to lose touch with your little boyfriend."

Mickey fell back on the back of the couch. "Why the fuck do you have to turn everything into _something,_ Mason? I've told you a million times that nothing is going to happen alright? I thought maybe you'd get that after the thousands of times I've rejected you and won't let you kiss me. Is it that hard to understand? Whether I fucked that kid or not is non of your god damned business and stop trying to drag me into your shit! I don't care who or what Rossi is fucking, much less whether he's not in touch with the sad fucks he messes with. I take care of what I need to take care of and that's it." With that he hung up and chucked his phone across the room, not giving a fuck when he heard it crack against the wall. 

It wasn't the worst news he could've received, but just knowing that Mason knew that Ian had been with Mickey the day he was looking for him was a red flag. 

"Why were you talking about Rossi?" Ian's soft voice asked, and Mickey looked over to his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. 

Mickey shrugged a little, unsure of how to answer that. After all, Ian thought he was just a businessman and didn't know about his connection with that specific mobster. "That acquaintance of mine that stopped us when I was driving you home is an... accomplice of his who was out looking for you... Curtis," he answered, avoiding _his_ connection with Rossi completely. 

"I remember that he was looking for me but... why did he call _you_ about it? Does he know what I look like now or something?" he asked, and Mickey could see the fear growing in his eyes and immediately felt a fierce need to keep Ian from getting even more involved in this. 

 Well fuck. 

"Yeah, he... he knows what you look like and recognized you," he admitted, rubbing his mouth. "But don't worry, I won't let anything happen."

Ian's face immediately softened and he studied Mickey. "I don't really know how I got myself involved with any of this," he admitted and Mickey practically melted. 

"It happens when you don't expect it. Just be glad you have people on your side," he said, clapping Ian on the shoulder. 

Once again, neither of them addressed their little session, but from the way Ian kept looking at Mickey's neck and smirking, he could tell it wasn't their last time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was kinda short, but considering what it was mostly made up of i figure ya'll can forgive me ;) i'll update in a few days but keep the comments coming! love the feedback <3


	9. Chapter 9

Mandy called the men around 3am, and by then the sexual tension had grown so intense that Mickey found it hard to breathe. Neither one of them wanted to be the one to make the first move again, but it was clear they both wanted to make it. 

"Can you come get me around fo-"

"I'll be there in five minutes," Mickey answered immediately, probably coming off a little to eager to leave the awkward, hot room. Ian stood in unison with him, and started following him to the door. Once they reached it, Mick grabbed his keys and turned around to face the ginger with his back to the door. "You're coming with?"

He shrugged in response, "Um... yeah?"

"Oh... you don't think it will seem a little weird to Mandy?" he replied, swallowing deeply. 

Ian chuckled, taking a step closer to the shorter man. "You really think me coming with you to pick up my best friend will be any weirder than her seeing these when we were home alone together?" he asked, reaching out and running his finger over the bruises he left on Mickey's neck with a smug look on his face. It was obvious that his breath caught at the touch and he raised his eyes to meet Ian's. 

Involuntarily, he started tilting his head back and moved so his back was against the door as the ginger pressed closer. His heart rate started to rise and he swallowed in a way he hoped was nonchalant, but knew was far from casual. Ian's hand slid onto Mickey's hip and he finally gave in to what Mickey wanted, slotting their lips together, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Ian moaned a breathy, little moan and Mickey raised his hands to cup the ginger's face, kissing back softly. It was the sweetest one yet, complete with gentle, light kisses and slow tongue. Mickey wouldn't have had it any other way, even though his head was screaming at him to push the redhead away, wipe his mouth off and stomp out of the apartment that instant. 

The rest of him, however, ignored his brain and groaned when Ian's arm slid behind his back so he arched off the door and against Ian. Mickey let one hand fist the ginger's hair while the other wrapped around the back of his neck, pressing impossibly closer. Ian's tongue worked expertly in Mickey's mouth, running along his teeth before returning to his own mouth. With that, he pulled away, then, after meeting Mickey's eyes one more time, leaned forward to press one more kiss to his lips. 

"We should go get Mandy," he said quietly, neither of them moving from their positions in one another's arms. Mickey nodded in assent and sighed at his lack of self control and the fact that he really didn't want to move. When Ian didn't move either, he pulled him back down, kissing him again. 

Their lips were getting familiar with one another by then, and Mickey had the urge to kiss Ian's neck, so he pulled away, letting his right arm drop and keeping his left hand on the ginger's jaw while he put his lips to the left side of his throat. As if he'd flipped a switch, Ian started leaning on him harder for support and practically purred like a kitten at Mickey's mouth. By the time he let his tongue roll onto Ian's skin, the ginger's knees almost buckled and Mickey took the liberty of flipping their positions and slamming him against the door, keeping Ian up with his own hard body.  

He sucked harshly at the skin and soaked in every loud breath and moan flowing from Ian's mouth. Wanting to hear the ungodly noise he knew the redhead would make if he used his teeth, he ran them lightly over the damp skin before sinking them into his flesh just hard enough to bruise it. The noise was more than he expected, as it was accompanied by Ian's iron grip on Mickey's wrist and his name tumbling from the ginger's lips. 

After being sure there would be a dark mark that would last at least a few days, he returned to Ian's mouth, returning to the soft, slow tempo they'd had going before until he finally pulled away again. He patted the redhead on the cheek, clearing his throat and grabbing his keys from the hook near his head. 

"Alright, you ready?" he asked and Ian nodded, licking his lips and running a hand through his hair. 

* * *

 

In the car, Mickey couldn't help but keep glancing over at Ian to admire the big, purple hickey on the side of his neck. In the past Mickey had thought that hickeys looked horrendously tacky, only there to be a token of someone's fuck the night before, but here he was, bearing a throat-load of them and watching with desire at someone he'd put them on without putting so much as a hand down Ian's pants. 

They approached Mandy's work quickly, parking around the corner and waiting patiently. The clock read 3:56 and if he recalled, she had started to instruct Mickey to get her at four before he'd interrupted her- thankfully for him, otherwise he and Ian would've made themselves rather late. His head was reeling with conflicting thoughts and feelings, but one stuck out above all else. He'd promised himself that he was going to keep Ian safe, and to do that he had one of two options: he could turn Ian away and tell him to drive far from Chicago and far from Rossi and Damion  _or_ he could keep the annoying, charming little redhead around him at all times. There wasn't much debate to figure out which he was going to choose at that point. So if he was never going to let the ginger out of his sight, he might as well give into his emotions once in a great while.    

"So she doesn't get off for a few minutes..." Mickey trailed off, looking over at his companion with lips pursed in question. There wasn't a moment's hesitation as Ian practically tore Mickey from his seat and urged him coarsely over the center console and into his lap. He took up the new position easily, straddling Ian smoothly as he brought his hands up to his neck, holding the back of it as he started attacking the ginger's mouth. 

It still surprised him how much he actually wanted to kiss Ian. At that point, it shouldn't have, considering every time they'd made out Mickey had been far more than a little enthusiastic, but he'd never felt such a strong pull to someone's mouth before. 

He parted his lips first this time, and Ian shifted eagerly beneath him as Mickey's tongue drifted into his mouth, running it lightly along the roof of Ian's mouth, causing him to squirm a little and hold the darker man's hips tightly. Mickey moaned a little and was met with Ian's tongue to muffle any further noises. He reached down for the reclining part of the seat and pushed Ian down to lower the chair once he found it. He locked it into position and made his way up the ginger's body, bringing his mouth down to kiss down his jaw to the clear side of his neck. Based on his experience kissing Ian's throat before, he decided that it was definitely something he wanted to do again, and started sucking on the skin right away.

"Fuck, Mick," he breathed, his fingers tightening on the other man's hips and using them to push his hips down and guide him into a grinding motion. Mickey whimpered a little, but instead of pulling away, rolled the skin between his teeth and rolled their hips together again, reveling in Ian's groan. 

Heat pooled in his stomach with every downward thrust of his hips and only grew when his lips returned to Ian's, biting at his lower lip. Turned out, Mickey had quite a thing for biting, too, something he only then discovered because of his lack of mouth usage. Ian didn't seem to have a problem with it, just arching his back to press his chest against Mickey's and shoving his tongue into his mouth and kissing roughly until Mickey pulled away again to kiss his neck, craving those god forsaken noises Ian made. 

Right as Mickey's fingers started jerking at Ian's hair and he sucked at a new spot on Ian's throat, the backdoor of his car opened and his head shot up to see Mandy tossing her purse in haphazardly before her eyes caught sight of what was happening in the dark street lights. 

The men were frozen, simply forced to watch as her jaw slowly dropped and her eyes widened in surprise. Mickey winced in preparation as he saw her hands moving up to her head, knowing they were about to be accompanied by a dog whistle screech- which they were. Ian's eyes squinted in pain, but neither of them had the courage to move further than that. Mickey was still straddling him, and his fingers were still deep in Ian's hair, with Ian's fingers digging into his hips harshly. 

"I fucking _knew_ it!" she yelled into the empty street. " _That's right, Chicago! I knew it!"_ she screamed in her high, piercing voice. Finally, she came back to the door, and Mickey sat up, rubbing at his face and groaning in irritation. Mandy would never let him live it down. Ian didn't bother moving his hands from Mickey's hips, and he didn't bother asking him to. "How long have you two been pulling this little stunt behind my- oh _shit,_ even if I wouldn't have caught you in the act, I definitely would've caught you since you fucking _leeched_ onto each other's necks. God _damn_ boys you sure like marking your territory, don't you? Wow, I just, I can't believe how right I was- _am_ I guess, like wow-"

"Shut the fuck up, Mandy," Mickey sighed, skirting off of Ian and rolling back to the driver's side. Ian propped his seat back up so Mandy could fit into the back. 

"I'll only do that because I know you need quiet to get rid of that hard on," she giggled from her seat. Mickey scoffed and, although she wasn't wrong, it pissed him off that she was gloating like that. 

"I'll drop you by the side of the road," he threatened, shifting gears and pulling out somewhat recklessly. 

She hummed in the backseat before her head popped up between Mickey and Ian. "I hope you to have been safe about this," she said with a sleazy grin. "Have you done it all over the apartment?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, "Fuck off, you dumb bitch."

Ian, who was being awfully quiet, finally decided to chime in with a, "We decided the first place we wanted to do it was your bed."

Mandy gasped as though she'd been slapped and shrieked, smacking Mickey on the arm. "Why do you have to be such a disgusting fucking _perv,_ Mickey!?"

The men just laughed and avoided the flying hands as much as possible before Ian stopped short and commanded, "Stop the car."

Almost immediately, Mickey pulled over, barely checking his blind spot to make sure he didn't kill some oblivious cyclist. "Why? What's going on?" he asked, and then Ian was climbing haphazardly out of the car and sprinting for a dark figure sliding down an alleyway. "Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me- _Ian!"_ he called. 

He quickly put the car in park and ran after the ginger, cursing under his breath the whole time. By the time he reached him in the drippy, sketchy pathway, Ian was being pressed against the wall by some huge, random guy who had him trapped between his arms. Ready to start busting some knees, Mickey took a step forward, but was stopped short by the huge grin split across the ginger's face. 

"What the hell is this?" he asked, suddenly far past jealous, although he didn't have very much reason to be. What power did he have over Ian as to whether he got pinned against the side of a building by big, bulky dudes in the middle of the night and liked it?

"This is Caleb, we used to work together!" Ian practically burst through his giant smile before wrapping his arms around the guy in a mixture of a manly and kind of gay way. 

"How you doin', ginger snap?" the man asked, his voice deep and booming. Ginger snap!? 

Ian pulled away first, but left his hands on the side of the dark man's face and replied, "I'm good, man, good! How are you? How's the whole firefighter thing going?" 

He shrugged, patting the back of Ian's hand and laughing as he dropped his arms back to his side. "I mean, how do you think it's going when I'm prowling around the Southside at four in the morning?" he asked, a chuckle still on his breath. 

"Well, shit, I'm sorry," he replied, and Mickey ran a hand through his hair. There was no obvious danger here, and his adrenaline was pumping so much that he was almost shaking. "What are you doing now, then?"

Caleb sucked in a deep breath before looking up somewhat awkwardly at Ian. "I'm a pimp, now," he admitted and Mickey's eyebrows furrowed. 

"No fucking way," Ian replied. Mickey couldn't tell if he was angry or not, but he was curious as fuck to find out. "I bet that means you protect your girls," he added. That was not the response Mickey had been looking for. "Well good for you, but make sure you take care of them."

He nodded. "Of course, man, I totally will and if I don't, you better hire someone to shoot me," he said and both of them laughed. Caleb finally seemed to notice Mickey's presence and turned to point at him. "Maybe hire this guy, he looks kind of menacing," he shrugged, dragging a finger gently down Mickey's chest. "Nice little guard dog, though."

His eyes widened and he starting taking a step towards this pimp guy before stopping when Ian's fingers spread across his chest, holding him back. "Oh please, he's nothing but a big, dorky puppy, right Mick?" he asked, and when Mickey did nothing but glower in response, Ian pulled their bodies flush together and pressed a kiss on Mickey's mouth. 

He had half the mind to be pissed that he was just outed to some random stranger _and_ that Ian had kissed him in this part of Chicago, but there was no way he could think straight when he was up against Ian like that and a little fluttery from his lips. 

"Well isn't that cute," Caleb laughed, patting Ian on the back. Finally coming to his senses, Mickey pushed him off gently, uncomfortable with all the PDA despite that fact that he hoped Caleb saw the hickeys littering Ian's neck to prove that he was taken. 

Was he taken though? Did Mickey _have_ him? He didn't fucking know. 

"Aye, yo _Mickey! Ian,_ get your _cock_ loving asses back in this _car_ so I can go the _fuck_ to sleep!" Mandy's loud, piercing voice screamed from down the alley and in the street. 

"Well, that's our cue, it was awesome seeing you today, man," Ian said, tossing an arm around Mickey's shoulders and guiding him away, making sure to smack his ass for Caleb to see. 

He shoved him away again once they got out of the alley and grumbled as he got into the car. "Why were you all up on me like that, you asshat?" Mickey snapped once everyone was buckled in and he pulled out. 

"Are you kidding me? Caleb was basically eye fucking you the entire time and I wanted him to know that you were spoken for," he said, crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes at the whip noise his sister made from the back, but was unable to hide from Ian the blush creeping over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know your thoughts my dears! please comment <3


	10. Chapter 10

By the time Mickey, Ian and Mandy returned to the apartment it was nearly five am, and all three were ready to pass out. Mandy scurried off to her room before anyone could get a word in and slammed the door behind her with a shout of "MOVE YOUR BED AWAY FROM THE WALL".

Mickey rolled his eyes, but the second he looked over at Ian he was being pinned against the wall and kissed harshly. Ian had his hands clasped around Mickey's tightly and slammed them against the wall on either side of the dark haired man's head. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he kissed Ian back, barely struggling against the hands restraining him and opening his mouth to invite the ginger's tongue. 

Ian complied immediately and welcomed his tongue into Mickey's mouth. The dark haired man responded accordingly, massaging his tongue over Ian's and moaning when his grip tightened on Mickey's wrists. He arched off the wall to press against Ian's body and groaned when instead of allowing him to, the ginger simply pushed his body back and grinding hard against Mickey's hips. 

After a few steady rolls of his hips, Mickey struggled against the hands restraining him, wanting to run his fingers through the red, full head of hair and whimpering a little when he wasn't able to. Ian's fingers stroked a little on his hands and tightened as he rolled his hips down and sucked on Mickey's tongue. He stopped responding to Ian and it took him a minute to realize that the dark haired man wasn't kissing back, but when he did he pulled away. 

"What? Wha- what's wrong?" he asked, panting and taking a step away to give Mickey room. 

He swallowed and tried to catch his breath before grabbing Ian's shirt and flipping them so he had the redhead against the wall and slid his hands down to grab at his hips. Ian threaded his fingers through Mickey's hair and he felt the smile ghosting his lips at Mickey's inability to stay pinned down. Feeling extra daring, he put his hands on Ian's thighs, urged them apart and hiked him up so he was being straddled, bearing his weight and pushing him harder against the wall. Mickey ran his fingers up his hips and Ian's legs tightened around his waist, his lips covering his companion's.

Mickey barely had to even think before he stepped away from the wall, and carried the giant idiot to his bedroom, never parting their lips any step of the way. He slammed the door shut behind them with a thud and fell forwards onto his bed with Ian directly beneath him with a huff as the air was knocked out of him. As Mickey's hands wandered to Ian's belt, he swallowed every noise the ginger made and muffled them with rough, needy kisses. 

He'd not once been overcome with something like this. Mickey was so overwhelmed with emotion and need that he felt the need to stop, to say something to Ian, or even ask him to just wait a minute so he could soak it in. Fucking had never been of anything significant to Mickey, often times it had been an activity to pass the time or distract him from stress. But with Ian, not only did _fucking_ feel like the wrong word to describe it, but it felt too important to do out of need in the early morning after a long night of awkward silence. 

His hands froze on the buttons of Ian's trousers and he pulled away from his mouth with a wet kiss, breathing heavily. He wanted to get into Ian's pants, fuck if he didn't, but he wasn't sure he was ready to do something like that with a man who impaired his ability to think and speak just by looking at him. He didn't like being vulnerable, and felt that if he and Ian fuc- did the _do-_ then he would be at his most sensitive, weak state and he wasn't prepared to go there with someone he'd only known for three weeks. 

In fact, Mickey didn't know if he wanted to go there at all, with anyone _ever._ Being vulnerable fucked with his brain, it made him confused and uncomfortable and he'd worked hard over the years to shove down every emotion that lead to it for quite some time. Fuck, Mickey was a _killer._ That's what he _did_ for a living, and you don't kill people as often as he does and still feel exposed and vulnerable to another human being. Well, another human being who isn't Mandy. Still, he somehow, someway came to his senses before he could proceed any further with Ian and detached himself from the enticing ginger, sitting down on the bed next to him and rubbing his eyes. 

"What's wrong?" Ian asked, his voice filled to the brim with genuine concern. Mickey waved him away. "Mick, really, what's going on? Are you okay?"

He shook his head to rid himself of the annoying asshole's voice and waved him off again. "I'm fine, Gallagher, just... just don't talk for right now, alright?" he demanded, suppressing his guilt. 

Mickey was a _killer._ That's who he was. That's what he _did._ That's how he made his god damn living and provided for himself and his sister. If he was going to keep doing what he had to do, he couldn't let flowery shit like Ian and his feelings get to him. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. The stupid redhead had blinded him and debilitated his thinking, and continued to do so, because even as he moved away, all he wanted to do was return to the ginger and finish what they'd started. 

Instead, though, Mickey rose and walked over to the bathroom attached to his bedroom, leaning his fist against it, and resting his head on top of the fist. How had he allowed himself to get pulled in this deep? He'd even told Ian that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to him when it came to Rossi and Damion. Who was he to interfere with the way these things worked out? He'd seen it happen a million times. Some innocent little guy or girl happened to waltz in front of one of the mobsters who could ultimately ruin their lives, and got sucked in so deep that they never came out. Either they became ensnared into the web the chaotic mafia lifestyle that there was no escape for them and they were reduced to a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome or, more often than not, they were dispatched by a handy dandy hit man such as Mickey.

How the _fuck_ could he have even let himself get this far? What had this idiot done to him the past few weeks? How could he even think that there was a way to protect Ian from being wiped out by one of the two opposing men he'd gotten himself involved with? How had he allowed for Ian to hang around his personal house, let his sister get all attached to the kid and now wound up almost _fucking_ him and being degraded to an exposed, vulnerable state? He shook his head and turned around to look at Ian, sitting on the edge of the bed looking worried. 

"Look, Gallagher, I'm sorry, but you gotta go," he said, his voice sounding far more hoarse than he'd prefer. He didn't want to tell Ian to go, he didn't want to stop kissing him and he didn't want him to get involved with Rossi or Damion, but Ian had already bound himself to them and he couldn't think of another way out. 

"Mick, look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push you or-"

Mickey shook his head and put up a hand to cut him off. "That's not what I'm talking about. I mean you actually need to leave. You need to leave the fucking city, the state- damn, leave the fucking country," he said. At the very least he could avoid contact with Ian while still trying to keep him from getting murdered by the mafia. "Get away from any of your contacts, away from Rossi and Damion and just... fucking go," he said, rubbing a hand over his forehead. 

Ian stood from the bed, shaking his head and walking towards the shorter man. "Mickey, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I leave?"

Mickey jerked away before Ian could touch him, leaving the ginger to look wounded and hurt, but he couldn't find it in him to feel bad. What he was doing, he was doing to help Ian. "Gallagher, you have to trust me on this, alright? There's no way you're gonna get out of the mess you put yourself in," he said and gestured towards the door. "The only solution is to get as far away as you fucking can and never turn around, okay? It sounds stupid and hokey, I know, but you realize there is no escape from the mob right? They'll kill you before you have any way to leave. They'll saw off your finger tips and rip out your fucking teeth and... and make sure there's no way for you to be identified, then they'll put you in a garbage bag and bury you somewhere out in the country so no one will find you," he said, hoping to scare Ian into leaving and not looking back. Whether he liked it or not, he'd grown attached to Ian, and although he now felt as though the kid was mercury and would kill Mickey if he kept at him like he had been, he still wanted him as safe as he could get him without killing himself in the process. 

"What the fuck happened to you in the past thirty seconds, Mickey? Why are you saying that?" he said, reaching out to cup Mickey's cheek. He fought himself, but ultimately allowed it, savoring the stupid touch. 

"I don't want you to end up dead, Ian," he said softly. And I don't want to be the one to kill you, he added, but didn't say aloud. 

"I won't," he insisted, smiling naively. "I'll be just fine. It's been weeks and neither of them have even attempted to contact m-" he stopped short and pulled his hand away from Mickey. "Wait is this... is this about that phone call you got earlier? From that friend of yours who was looking for me?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing and his eyes widening. "Mickey, did they say they were going to kill me?"

Mickey didn't know how to respond. No, technically Mason had said the opposite, that Rossi didn't intend to put Ian in any danger at all, he just wanted to talk to him. However, in gangster language, that was easily translated into "If you don't find the fucking ginger and convince him to become my bitch, we'll just get rid of him". 

"Well, I-" he began, and stopped to sigh sharply. "No, they didn't say that exactly, but I know how these people work and-"

"How?" Ian interrupted, crossing his arms in front of Mickey, who still had his back against his bathroom door. "How do you know how they work? What kind of a business man _are_ you, Mickey? Are you one of them?"

He shook his head harshly. "No, Ian, I'm not 'one of them'! But I've worked with them before, and let me tell you, it ain't pretty. I can't think of one time that I've seen it work out well for any of their little side pieces like you. You think they don't have wives? You think if the mob wives find you they'll treat you kindly? Because they won't! And you think that if the wives suspect something and confront their husbands that they won't deny your existence and get rid of you? Because they fucking will, Gallagher, and all I'm doing here is looking out for your well-being, so instead of fucking fighting me every step of the way, why don't you show a little god damn appreciation!?" His volume increased steadily, but Mickey kept himself composed. He'd mastered the art of acting calm even when he wasn't, and pretending he was okay talking to Ian was a walk in the park. 

"You know what, Mickey? Fuck you," he said, and Mickey rolled his eyes. "Fuck you, because you acted like you were gonna do everything you could to keep this from happening, and now here you are not even twelve hours later backing up on your promise. Enjoy your life, asshole," he snapped, storming out of the room. Mickey sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face and waiting until he heard the door to the apartment slam before walking over to the window to look outside and watch to make sure the idiot ginger got out alright. 

There were only a few cars out on the street, one light blue bug parked on his side of the road, and a large black SUV on the other side that he'd noticed when they returned home and hadn't moved. He would've thought nothing of it, but just as he saw Ian exit the building and was about to turn away, the car started pulling out and he snapped back to watch and make sure it wasn't who he feared it was. 

Sure as shit, Mason rolled down the driver's side window and Ian practically collapsed into himself. 

"Fuck!" Mickey burst and grabbed a strategically placed pistol from the kitchen cabinet before he sprinted down the staircase. 

Of course, the minute he'd decided he was going to do what's right, fucking _Mason_ had to be sitting across the street stalking him since he thought Mickey was his god damned boyfriend. Despite the fact that he'd just come to terms with the fact that Ian was not and would never be his responsibility, he bolted to the sidewalk, where he saw two guys pulling Ian into the black car roughly and his blood boiled. He ran after the car, and caught up quickly, which wasn't too hard considering Mason saw him in the rear view and slowed for him, rolling down the passenger window to an empty seat. 

"Why, hello, you little lying fucker," he greeted Mickey. "We won't tell Rossi that you tried to keep his little toy from him if you come with," he said, basically threatening Mickey that if he didn't go fuck Mason, he would rat him out to his boss. 

"Motherfucker," he cursed, but opened the door and jumped into the passenger's seat, looking in the back to see the same young guy from a few weeks ago standing over Ian's unconscious body. "You had to knock the poor kid out?" he asked, looking from the kid to Mason. 

"Poor kid, huh? Thought you said you didn't fuck him," he mocked, speeding quickly down the street. 

"It doesn't _matter_ whether or not I fucked the kid, you idiot!" he snapped, crossing his arms. "Who's your little lackey and why has he been doing all your dirty work lately?" he asked more calmly. At least if he went with them, he could ensure that Ian didn't fucking _die._

"Oh this is Estabon, but we all call him Benny," he explained, and the dark haired, caramel skinned boy waved awkwardly. 

"How'd you get sucked into all this, Benny?" Mickey asked, and now that he was certain that- at least for the moment- Ian was alright, he pulled a cigarette from the pack in the center console of the car and lit it, taking a drag immediately. 

The kid shrugged. He couldn't have been older than seventeen. There was no way he was even old enough to smoke legally, much less be involved in any of this shit. "My dad," was the only explanation he offered and that was enough for Mickey. Around the Southside, fathers determined a lot of your future for you based on the shit they'd gotten themselves involved in. 

He took another drag of the cigarette and looked at Mason. "So, Rossi just wants to 'talk' to the ginger?" he asked, looking out the window as he smoked and flicked ash out of it. 

Mason shrugged, not bothering to turn on his blinker as he switched lanes, pissing Mickey off. "I mean, that's what he told me at least, but who knows? Maybe he just wanted to talk to him before he ended up calling you, you know? You can never really tell with Rossi, it all depends on the candy cocktail he had that day."

Mickey rolled his eyes at the phrase 'candy cocktail'. It was one he hadn't heard since high school, and one he'd hoped not to hear again, as he thought it was trademarked by obnoxious horny teenage boys looking for any mixture of pills to take to keep their urges at bay- which, now that he thought about it, did actually constitute Mason. In fact, Rossi's whole little posse was unusually young; he depended on mostly relatives and people he'd threatened to keep his own side jobs up and in business. That's probably how poor Benny had gotten involved in the first place. 

"So, how did you find out the kid was with me?" he asked, still neglecting to actually use Ian's real name, since it seemed they didn't know it yet- which was surprising in itself. 

"We had a source tell us he was seen with some short but intimidating _guard dog,"_ he explained, and that flickered a memory in Mickey's mind, but he couldn't quite place it. "Believe it or not, Mick, you have a bit of a reputation. Just because your clients don't usually get to see you doesn't mean word doesn't get around. There aren't very many Ukrainian guys with fuck you up tattooed across their knuckles," he said, turning his attention away from the road to look at Mickey, who pointed to the windshield so Mason would focus on driving. He rolled his eyes but obliged. "Plus he happened to see you and little Ian back there kiss." he added. "What are the odds that one of our connections would get _chased_ down an alley but just the man we asked him to keep an eye out for? Why don't you ever kiss _me,_ Mickey?"

And just like that, everything clicked. Ian's friend hadn't been 'eye fucking' Mickey, he'd been trying to place him to the description everyone had floating around of him. And by kissing Mickey in front of him, Ian had done basically the worst he possibly could've. 

"Caleb?" he asked. 

"Caleb."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't hate me pls it'll all be worth it i have a plan. trust me my lovelies <3 please comment!


	11. Chapter 11

By the time they arrived at the familiar pool house, Mickey was on his fourth cigarette, and the panic was beginning to set in. He knew Ian wasn't his responsibility, knew he was putting the both of them in danger by feeling responsible for him, but that didn't change the fact that he cared about the idiot ginger. 

The whole ride there, Mason had been asking stupid fucking questions about the nature of their relationship, and riding Mickey's ass on why he wouldn't kiss him. 

"Because I don't want your fucking germs in my mouth," he snapped back, tossing the butt of his last cig out the window. 

"Oh but you're okay with ginger snap here giving you his fucking herpes?" he replied, shifting the car into park. "Why the fuck would you want some twink ass like him to give it to you anyways?" he asked, getting out of the car and slamming the back door open. 

"Why is it that important to you, Mason? You clingy fuck, I've told you on a million occasions that I have no interest in a god damn relationship with you," he said, rounding the car to see that Ian was carried gently. Benny hopped over his passed out body and started pulling him out, tossing him haphazardly over his shoulder, but not doing anything to cause harm. 

Mickey crossed his arms and followed behind the pair of men, listening as Mason whined. "Well why the hell do you keep coming back to me then, asshole? Every fucking week all I hear is 'Wanna dick me down?'."

"Because I'm a grown fucking man and I appreciate some good dick," he said, as though it should've been clear. "I know how to separate my body from my feelings," he added, tapping his head with his finger. 

"Then what's the deal with you and the redhead!? Obviously you have feelings for his twig ass," Mason fought back, slamming into the house angrily. "You know he's a fucking stripper? He leaves the club to let people use his mouth as a fucking flesh light," he grumbled, and if he was being honest, Mickey had already tuned him out. 

He'd never been on the inside of the pool house before, and it was kind of weird. It didn't like a place anyone from the mob would live in- then again, their houses never really gave them away. Usually it was the wife who decorated to her liking, never really working on a budget for their interior designing. As difficult as it was for Mickey to admit, he really wouldn't mind being a mob wife. It was like the gangster was their sugar daddy, but they weren't always crumbly old white men. A damn dream come true 

"Are you even fucking listening to me!?" Mason burst, and Mickey's eyes squinted as he waved the blonde man off. 

"Can you just shut the fuck up for two minutes?" he snapped. "God damn, you're so persistent even though you know you're not gonna fucking get anywhere!"

He huffed angrily, but stormed off down a random corridor, leaving Benny and Mickey alone together in what looked like the living room. Benny simply shrugged, probably used to Mason's weird tantrums, and set Ian down gently on a couch. 

"How the fuck do you deal with that all the time?" Mickey asked, sitting on the couch at Ian's feet, feeling oddly protective again. Fuck, though, if Mason wasn't right. Mickey was on this kid's hook for no good fucking reason. All Ian was going to do was lead them both to their deaths and, although that was a part of the business, he didn't quite feel like being brutally murdered when he was only 23. 

Benny shrugged in response, sitting in a paisley patterned chair across from Mickey and sinking deep into it after a moment. "I don't really know," he admitted. "It's not like a have much of an option, though, right? I mean... if I don't put up with his shit, I'll probably be kept in the basement and brutally murdered, you know?" he said, then shrugged again, sighing. "But, you know, what can you do?"

Mickey chuckled a little at that, and glanced instinctively over at his little ginger companion, whose eyes were wide open and staring back at him. He jumped a little, but turned, placing a hand on Ian's thigh. "Hey, man, are you alright?" he asked.

Ian blinked a few times and rubbed his head before looking back up at Mickey. "Yeah, I- I'm okay. What are we doing? Where the fuck are you?"

Mickey shifted uncomfortably and glanced over at Benny, who looked deeply sympathetic for the poor, confused ginger. "Well... Rossi wanted to talk to you, and got a few of his guys to come bring you in once you left my house," he explained, choosing his words carefully. 

It didn't matter how he'd said it, though, because Ian flinched and jumped up off the couch, almost immediately sitting back down and clutching at his head. Chloroform can do that to you. It doesn’t work as fast as it’s shown in the movies- it needs to be inhaled for 20-30 seconds, but fuck if it didn’t feel like you had a kick ass hangover once you woke up. 

Once he was able to raise his head again, he looked as though he’d been hit by a truck. “How did they know I was there?” he asked helplessly, before his entire demeanor changed. “Mickey, you didn’t… tell them, did you? W-what are you even doing here if they wanted to talk to me? Are you working with them? Have you just been fucking with me this whole time!?”

Mickey shook his head vigorously, reaching out to touch Ian, but pulling back at the last second. “No, Gallagher, you know I wouldn’t do that. What the fuck do you take me for? I saw that they were pulling up next to you and I ran out to make sure they didn’t fucking kill you,” he explained heatedly, trying to keep quiet so if Rossi or Mason came back they didn’t hear him. “I’m here to protect you, idiot.”

Ian seemed to soften at that, and scooted closer to Mickey by a hair. Someone who wasn’t looking for it wouldn’t have caught it, but since Mickey noticed everything the stupid kid did, he took note of the shift in his position, and had nothing but positive feelings for it. 

He still stood by what he’d said to Ian earlier, that he needed to get the fuck out of Chicago and away from Rossi and his connections, but he knew now that it would be almost impossible to accomplish that alone at that point. He grasped blindly at ideas on how to detach Ian from the mafia safely and with the least amount of casualties, but he didn’t know that he’d be able to get him out by himself. He didn’t know that he wanted Ian out by himself. 

Still, he wasn’t going to make any rash decisions or say anything without thinking. He’d only known Ian for two weeks, anyways. 

Finally, and yet too soon, Mason and an older guy walked into the room. He wasn’t bad looking, in all honesty. He had black hair, with sort of a silver fox thing going for him and had a lean build. He wore the classic mobster pinstripe suit without his suit coat. Really, he couldn’t have been more than 40. Mickey had no choice but to assume that this man was Rossi. It took him a minute to collect himself after studying him, and honestly he couldn’t blame Ian for fucking around with Rossi. He’d only ever spoken to him over the phone, and although his voice wasn’t anything special, he marveled at how well it fit his body and persona now. 

“Curtis!” he greeted warmly, a smile breaking out across his face. He approached the two on the couch, then leaned down and kissed Ian straight on the mouth. Mickey’s eyebrows immediately furrowed, especially when he saw their lips part and fucking Gallagher kissed back! He looked around the room at Benny, who looked apologetic, then at Mason who had a smug fucking smile across his face. His eyes returned just as Rossi pulled away, with a grin. “I’ve missed you, Curtis, where have you been hiding?” he asked. He didn’t sound threatening or sarcastic, but genuine and concerned. 

It never ceased to surprise Mickey meeting his clients and getting to know the difference between their real personalities and the way they act when they want someone dead. Then again, he actually  _ killed  _ the people, and according to Mandy, you’d never really guess that’s what he did for a living. 

Ian smiled back easily, and although it wasn’t the one Mickey had received from his gorgeous face, it still looked mostly genuine and set off a burst of jealousy in his stomach. “Come on, Rossi, you know how it goes,” he shrugged. “Never really can stay in one spot too long.”

Rossi nodded in understanding before reaching down and wrenching Ian up from the couch and onto his feet. He looked woozy for a moment, before regaining his footing and balancing himself with an arm Rossi offered to him. “Do you want to tell me why Damion Larson called me telling me to stay away from you?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. There was no real malice behind the question, but anyone within a ten mile radius could feel the danger radiating from within him. Most gangsters with a reputation like Rossi were old farts who had countless lackeys to do their dirty work for them, but as fit as he was, Gustavo could probably do quite a bit of damage on his own, though he seemed like the type who didn’t like to get his hands dirty. 

Without getting too worked up, Ian once again replied, though this time he wasn’t smiling. “Damion and I had a fling a long time ago, but he’s having a hard time letting go,” he lied smoothly. ‘A long time ago’ meant a few weeks ago and ‘a fling’ meant a relationship where Ian was living in Damion’s apartment and had to buy almost all new shit to make up for all the stuff he kept. 

Rossi seemed to relax at this, letting Ian down from his grip. “Oh,” he replied. “Well if you’d like, I can take care of him,” he offered, reaching forward to run his fingers up and down Ian’s pale arms. Mickey had to swallow and set his jaw to keep from wrenching Rossi away from the ginger. He was really gonna have to work on his possessiveness. “I have resources, I can make sure he never bothers you again, Curtis.”

At this, Mickey tensed even more, silently begging Rossi not to mention his name. “Oh, you mean like good old Mi-” Mason stopped when Mickey shot him a menacing look. He had looks that could kill, and he knew how to use them to his advantage. 

“Exactly, like Mikhail,” Rossi finished and Mickey thanked god that he used his full name. Something seemed to change within Ian then, though, because his brow furrowed, then he looked horrified and finally settled on his previous emotion of a blank fondness for Rossi. “I want to take care of you, Curtis.”

Ian shifted a little, stepping out of his grip. “I don’t know if you really want to do that, though, Gustavo,” he said, and Mickey’s chest tightened a little. “I just… I don’t know that I’m going to be able to give you what you need. And…” he swallowed, looking down before returning his eyes to Rossi’s. “And I have to leave the state soon to go take care of my family.”

Rossi’s face seemed to fall a bit, and Mickey struggled to keep himself composed, when really he could’ve gotten up then and there and tackled Ian in a hug.

“Oh,” he replied, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, I could always fly your family in here.”

_ Fuck.  _

If Rossi was offering to do shit to keep Ian in Chicago, he was really attached. Why were so many god damned gangsters falling for this kid?

Ian shook his head, and Mickey could tell he was ready to fight this to the death. “I really couldn’t just uproot them. I have a baby brother and two smaller siblings, I just… I know they need me, but they have to stay where they are,” he said, and Mickey was surprised at just how easily the lies slipped past the ginger’s lips. 

Rossi smiled softly, winding his hard arms around Ian’s waist. Ian let his hands fall on the other man’s biceps. “Well, that’s something I can’t help but admire about you, Curtis. Your dedication and loyalty to your family,” he said, leaning forward and kissing Ian softly. “Well, before you go then, we’ll have to have one last nice outing and night together. Does that sound good?” he asked, inclining his head. 

Mickey stiffened, knowing Ian had no choice but to say yes and cringed inwardly when he nodded in response, and was groped and kissed right in front of his face. He turned away and accidentally made eye contact with Mason, whose arms were crossed and whose face held a very punchable smile. He wanted to cut the fucking lips right off of Mason’s stupid face and stuff them down his stupid throat. 

“I have to work soon, though,” Ian said when they finally parted, and Rossi nodded in understanding. “Next time you want to see me, could you maybe just… call  me?” he asked, smiling a little. 

Rossi laughed awkwardly, doing that thing where he scratched the nape of his neck again. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I never managed to get a way to contact you before, and I had no real way of reaching you. Here, don’t lose this one,” he reached into his suit coat and pulled out a business card for Ian, and tucked it into the pocket of his pants. “Call me tonight,” he ordered, although it sounded more like a request. Mickey saw right through him. 

Ian nodded in assent, and let himself be kissed goodbye by Rossi, before detaching himself and bidding him farewell. Mickey stood up after him, thanking his lucky stars that Rossi had neglected to mention his presence just a moment too early. “And who are you?” his voice asked as Ian reached the door. 

Mickey turned around cautiously, looking between Mason and Rossi for a moment. “I-uh- Mason and I-”

“Oh, say no more,” he said, lifting a hand. “You’re his little fuck buddy,” he said, winking at Mickey. He laughed awkwardly in response. “You’re leaving so soon?”

“Yeah, I forgot I’ve got somewhere to be,” he lied smoothly. “Figured I could catch a ride with my new friend, here,” he said, gesturing to Ian. 

Rossi nodded, “That’s a good idea! Carpool, save the earth!”

Mickey nodded awkwardly and tried to chuckle at the weird, eco-friendly thing he’d said. “Yeah, haha,” he replied uncomfortably, then headed closer to the door. “Well, maybe I’ll see you again, soon!”

“Nice meeting you,” he said and without hesitation both of the boys barrelled out of the door. 

They walked side by side stiffly for a few blocks, neither of them acknowledging that they could hail a taxi, and deciding to just walk instead. “So…” Mickey began and Ian simply shook his head. 

“Not yet,” he stopped Mickey short. After that they continued to walk in a tense, uncomfortable silence. It took only ten minutes to reach Mickey’s apartment and when they rounded up the staircase, Ian called out to make sure Mandy wasn’t home before he turned back to Mickey. “Mikhail?” was all he said. 

Mickey’s stomach dropped immediately and he swallowed. “Ian, I-”

“Mikhail?” he repeated, putting a hand on his hip and rubbing his face. “You know, Mickey I thought your last name sounded familiar when you told it to me. And now I remember perfectly,” he laughed without any humor and turned back to Mickey. “I was with Rossi, literally laying beside him and he got a phone call,” he explained, and just the thought of them together made Mickey uncomfortable. “And I specifically remember him saying ‘As always, well done, Milkovich’ and I hadn’t thought anything of it. But he was talking about handing something off to his boys to take it off your hands.”

“Ian, you don’t understand,” Mickey tried to interrupt. 

“No, Mickey, I think I understand perfectly! You’re a fucking  _ businessman _ and I’m such a god damned  _ idiot!  _ ‘The package’ was a fucking dead body! This is why you’ve always got fucking guns on you,” he burst, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you fucking put this past me. Of course. Mickey, I thought you were  _ different.  _ But no, you’re a fucking  _ murderer.” _

Mickey felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach and his breath caught. “Ian, please, hear me out,” he begged.

“Why would you lie to me about this? You told me that I was associating myself with bad people when you were the worst of them all along,” he said, sounding calmer now. He turned to look at Mickey then, and he looked so hurt and hollow that Mickey’s heart almost broke. 

“Please, don’t leave, I… you can’t leave, they will have someone hurt you,” he begged. 

“Someone like you?” he responded without a moment’s hesitation. Mickey stepped forward to touch Ian’s arm, and he stepped back, shaking his head. “Please, don’t, Mick, don’t touch me.”

“Ian, I would never hurt you, you have to know that,” he assured the redhead. Although it was going against everything he’d been telling himself, he knew he couldn’t let Ian leave. He needed Ian right now. 

“Don’t say that.”

Mickey walked forward again and tentatively reached out to brush Ian’s cheek. He finally turned to face Mickey again, and the moment their eyes locked, he knew Ian was a gone. 

“I’m going to protect you, Ian,” he assured him, and suddenly, Ian surged forward, kissing Mickey desperately. Mickey could’ve cried he was so relieved. He just wanted Ian to know that he wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to him. It didn’t matter what he did when he wasn’t around the redhead, what mattered was that he knew he was safe with Mickey. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told you it would be worth it. don't worry my loves everything will work out in the end. please comment!!! <3


	12. Chapter 12

Ian was lucky. 

Not only had he managed to snag the only two youngest hotshot Capos in Chicago who looked presentable, but he managed to make it over a month after breaking up with one without fucking dying. 

Mickey seemed to recognize this more than his redheaded friend, who simply floated through life, traveling to work and back to Mickey and Mandy's apartment day in and day out. It had only been a week and a half since Ian had lied to Rossi about needing to leave Chicago, and hadn't seen him since. 

He hadn't exactly spoken to Mickey much in those days, after realizing what it was he did for a living. He didn't bother asking Mickey about it, didn't attempt to reason with him and sure as fuck didn't kiss the dark haired man since that day.

It was driving Mickey to the brink of insanity not speaking to Ian but seeing him in the apartment every fucking day to hang around his little sister. They'd even been home alone together in that time, but neither had the courage to say a word to the other. In all reality, Mickey was the one who didn't know what to say, and he assumed Ian was giving him the silent treatment.

The only thing was, Mickey wasn't sure which part Ian was most pissed at him for. Was he angry that Mick lied to him about what he did for a living, the fact that what he did was _kill_ people or that he had fought Ian before Mason and Benny fucking kidnapped him. He had plenty of reasons to be pissed, so Mickey didn't dare blame him for being upset, he just wished they'd have some sort of confrontation so he could convince Ian that he wasn't a danger and really wanted to protect him. 

Even without Ian knowing, Mickey kept a sharp eye out for his safety, making sure no one followed him as much as he could, and being sure he didn't make any attempt to contact Rossi or Damion. 

It was a Thursday at 10:47am when Ian finally spoke to Mickey for the first time in ten days, and even then it was only to say, "Can you pass the ketchup?" They were sitting at the kitchen table with Mandy, who had made hash browns, bacon and bacon for breakfast, forcing everyone in the apartment to sit together if they wanted to eat. Mickey made no move to pass it, assuming that he had been talking to Mandy. "Did all the fucking gunshots deafen you, Mickey!? Hand me the fucking ketchup!" he snapped. 

Mickey's head shot up, his eyes wide and excited. He didn't even care that Ian had taken a sharp dig at him, he was just thrilled he'd spoken to him. He complied quickly then, giving the ginger the ketchup and looking over at Mandy, who was smirking a little. "I thought you'd taken a vow of silence from me," he said, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

"I had," Ian admitted, looking up at the shorter man across the table. Mickey hadn't realized until then, but the ginger had been avoiding looking at him, too. He didn't know how much he'd missed Ian's gorgeous green eyes in the past days until he saw them again, and after seeing them, even with all their anger and confusion, his stomach fluttered excitedly. "But I wanted some fucking ketchup and you had it last."

Mickey was a little hurt by his explanation, although he hadn't really expected anything more. He simply swallowed and looking back down at his food, taking a bite of his pancakes. He shuffled through all the possible things he could say to Ian, his options limited with Mandy sitting at the head of the table. He turned to lock eyes with her, and she got up immediately, walking over to the refrigerator. She opened it and leaned down, scanning the items then looking back at the boys. 

She sighed in that obvious way of hers before saying, "Damn... looks like we're all out of-" she looked back into the fridge, "-butter. I'll go get some more."

"There's butter on the counter, Mandy," Ian corrected, pointing at the tub with his fork. She grabbed it and threw it into the garbage. "Mandy, what the fu-"

"Damn, looks like we're all out of butter. I'll go get some!" she repeated, sounding far harsher this time as she grabbed the keys off the hook and stormed out of the house. Mickey had grown far more lenient about her driving the car, since he didn't want Ian walking home alone in their neighborhood from work, and Ian sure as shit didn't want Mickey picking him up. He trusted her more with the Mustang, although it killed him to admit it. 

Ian didn't say a word, turning back to his food and eating it slowly. Mickey did the same for a minute until his phone started buzzing on the table. They both jumped, looking at it with the same overwhelming sense of anxiety. Then they locked eyes over the table. Mickey swallowed and reached for the phone, sucking in a breath when he saw that the number was blocked. He answered tentatively, not breaking eye contact with Ian. 

"Hello?" he asked, sounding far more put together than he felt. 

"Talk to him you dumb fuck! I know you're both just sitting there awkwardly, so say something. You gay fuckers are torture to live with like this, so fix it for my sake," Mandy's grating voice commanded and Mickey almost growled, hanging up and slamming the phone back down on the table. 

"Who was it?" 

"Don't worry about it," Mickey replied, and although he knew he was acting like an asshole, he didn't care. He had to figure out how to approach Ian about this whole situation. Although his emotions were still conflicted as fuck, he'd made the firm decision that he was going to stick around Ian, and he intended to stay true to his plan. He could protect Ian better if he was around him, and it didn't matter if he was going to get on the bad side of the Capos in his area. However, if he managed to get involved with enough of the, the Commission would definitely hear about it and that would not be good for either of the men. Mickey, although he didn't like to acknowledge it, was considered an associate to the the family of the mafia he was involved, under Rossi's "command" as Capo. He did outside work, sure, but since Gustavo was his main client, it was hard to be known for much else. By getting involved with Ian, he was practically betraying Rossi, and if he wanted to, he could have the two of them wiped out easily. 

"I am fucking worried about it, I don't exactly want to be killed today," he fought back and Mickey rolled his eyes. 

"I told you nothing would happen to you, and it won't, alright? How about you calm the fuck down and trust me a minute, Gallagher, fuck," he snapped back, lifting a piece of bacon to his mouth. 

"No, I won't fucking trust you, Mickey! You've been lying to me since day _fucking_ one about something I think is pretty damn important! You should've fucking come clean the minute you heard I was involved with Rossi," he responded, standing and knocking the table forward a bit in his rushed movements. Mickey stood up too, putting his hands flat on the table and leaning forward a little. 

"Sorry if I don't blurt out my fucking sins to every goddamn cashier I happen to meet! If you don't understand the fact that I'm probably already on a fucking watchlist and don't want to get fucking tanked, then I don't know what to tell you, Ian! I would prefer to fucking trust someone before I tell them the one goddamned thing that could fucking ruin me for the rest of my life! You realize the only people who fucking know what I do personally are Mandy and my fucking clients! I have no friends who have a clue, so why would I tell you!?" he replied, angry with himself for how worked up he was getting. Mickey usually had pristine control over what he said and how he felt, but he should've expected that all that would fucking change with Gallagher. 

Ian's face morphed into something Mickey couldn't understand. He looked pained and confused, but there was something hopeful in his eyes that he couldn't quite place. "Mickey, you know you can trust me," he said softly. 

"No, I..." Mickey was still shouting a bit and took a deep breath before looking back up at Ian. "I don't know that, plus-" he chewed at his lip a little and ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Plus, I don't know what you would've thought of me if I'd told you about it."

Ian seemed to simmer down even more at this, rubbing his face a little. "Mickey, there... there's not much you could say to me that would change the way I feel about you," he admitted, shrugging. "What you do is what you do, and although I'm fucking terrified, I can't seem to stay away because of it," he told Mickey, who fucking melted. "And I am- terrified, I mean. It scares me that you can do all that shit and still be so fucking sweet and funny and... comfortable. It scares me that at any given moment, you could be killed for all of it, or put away or... anything could fucking happen to you and I don't like thinking about that. And it's fucking horrifying that I feel this way when I've only known you for a fucking month, but I can't fucking help it. You're under my fucking skin, man, and I hate it. I hate feeling like this."

Mickey didn't really know what to say to that. He wanted to be honest with Ian about his own thoughts and feelings, wanted to tell him things that would ease his troubled mind, but it was hard for him to even feel them himself without having a panic attack. He didn't want to tell someone else about it, too, even if that person was the subject of his affection. However, he definitely didn't want to leave Ian hanging, and he didn't want Ian thinking that he was some psychopathic killer who felt no sort of remorse over the things he did. He didn't want him to think that all he was to Mickey was some sort of half hearted fuck he seemed to be putting a little extra effort into. So, for Ian's sake, he made the decision to tell him. He was going to unload his shit onto the ginger, and he could take it or leave it because it was doing Mickey no good to bury it when he knew Ian needed to know. 

"You think I like feeling like this, Ian? You think I'm not just as scared as you are, if not more? I've _never_ had trouble controlling my feelings as much as I have been this past month. I've never struggled to keep myself at bay or not say anything or do anything stupid. And I have _never_ wanted to fucking kiss someone like I want to kiss you," he admitted, already feeling embarrassed. He wasn't done though. "You fucking mess with my head and piss me off and make bad decisions all the goddamn time. And the fact that you're involved with my fucking boss, well... well that's my fucking death warrant signed right there. You don't understand how deep you're in here, Ian, and how much deeper you're going to get if you keep saying shit like that to me, and looking at me with your fucking puppy eyes and staying around my apartment like you have been. You're either in or you're out, Gallagher, there's no in between. You either get the fuck out of Illinois or you stick with me. Those are your two options if you want to live to see thirty, alright?"

Ian swallowed, looking down, then right back up at Mickey. "Mick, I-"

"I'm not fucking done," he interrupted. "It doesn't matter that you're scared of what I'm capable of. It doesn't matter to me, and it shouldn't matter to you, because I would never do anything to hurt you, Ian. Ever," he assured. "And I won't let anyone else hurt you, either. Not Rossi, not Damion, not anyone. The only other person I've ever even remotely promised this to is Mandy, so you better realize how fucking special you are. And that- fuck, that's something I don't even want to think about. I hate that I feel that way towards you, Gallagher, really I do, but that doesn't change the fact that I can't control it, and I'm not gonna fucking push it down anymore. I'm not saying I want to be your goddamn boyfriend or anything, but I don't want to act like there's nothing going on between us anymore, got it? No more slamming me against a wall and making out with me, then pretending you didn't go near me, okay? So if you decide to stay, we're not faking anymore alright? I want to hold your goddamn hand and kiss your stupid fucking face and put my arm around your skinny ass motherfucking shoulders, you got it?"

Ian didn't say anything for a long time, simply looking down at the table and tapping his fingers against it. Mickey folded his arms across his chest, now too worked up to feel embarrassed anymore. When he finally looked up, Mickey's breath caught in his throat. 

"Okay," was all he said, licking his lips. "Okay, I'm in." He started walking around the table towards Mickey, who licked his lips too and watched. 

"You sure? I'm a dangerous guy, Gallagher, whether you like it or-"

Ian cut him off by taking a fistful of Mickey's shirt and yanking him forward to press their bodies together just before their lips met. He kept one hand gripping tightly at the collar of the shirt and the other on the side of his face. It surprised Mickey just how different kissing felt after admitting his feelings, and he brought his arms around Ian's waist, letting his hands rest on his back and press them even closer. 

The minute their lips parted, Mickey knew he was a fucking goner. He'd already made out with Gallagher before, and although it had been hot and irresistible, he knew there was no turning back anymore. His stomach fucking exploded with what could really only be described as butterflies, and his grip on Ian tightened as his throat did that weird thing where it tightened with his overwhelming emotions. The kiss was rushed and passionate and needy, everything Mickey could've wanted after not touching Ian at all for almost two weeks. 

Ian started walking forwards, pushing Mickey back until his back was against a wall and he could trap his body down and immobilize his partner. He let his hands fall down to Mickey's thighs and he pressed his hips forward before lifting them and wrapping Mickey's legs around his waist. Mickey released a breathy moan and shifted so his arms were around Gallagher's neck instead, threading one hand through his hair to pull at his and get a better angle at kissing him. 

Even though he'd desperately hoped that this would be the outcome of his confrontation with Ian, he'd prepared himself for the worst, and the relief he felt along with the strong compulsion to fucking devour Ian was indescribable. He bit at the ginger's lip and soaked in the groan he got in return, before letting out one of his own as Ian ground against him, pressing Mickey's hips into the wall and making his legs tighten around Ian. 

He let his tongue slide against Ian's and feel around his mouth before pulling back to just look at the stupid, gorgeous fucking redhead. "Are you afraid of me, Ian?" he asked, breathing heavily as Ian continued to grind against him. He shook his head then leaned forward and buried his face in Mickey's neck, kissing and biting harshly at the skin. He needed to make sure Ian knew that he was going to be well provided for and protected. "Are you sur-"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Mickey," he breathed, running his tongue just along the skin under his ear and making Mickey shiver. "Either shut it or fucking kiss me, oka-" he should've known Mickey would take the second option, in fact, he was certain Ian knew that. If they wouldn't have been shut, his eyes would've rolled back in his head when Ian bit harshly at his lower lip, and he almost hoped his teeth drew blood. 

Both men were so caught up in one another that when they heard something slam accompanied by Mandy's know-it-all voice, they jumped in surprise that there was anyone else in the room at all. 

"Well, it looks like you two made up just fine," she snorted, tossing the container of butter onto the table before sitting down at her seat again and digging into what she'd left on her plate. Ian pulled away first, giving Mickey the chance to stand on his own two feet and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Oh please, don't act like such a prude, Mickey has literally walked in on me fucking two guys at once."

The boys sat down and Mickey grimaced at the memory he'd done such a fine job suppressing. "It's true, I have."

"Well, Gallagher," she said with her mouth full of pancake as she slapped Ian on the shoulder. "Welcome to the family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tadaaa!!! here you are my dears, hang tight because things are about to get SMUTTY and DANGEROUS and KINKY and also kinda scary, but fear not!! Please comment <3 love ya!


	13. Chapter 13

After finishing breakfast, Mickey sprawled across the couch to watch some Game of Thrones and attempt to relax when he phone rang, startling both him and Ian. 

Mason's number appeared across the screen, and he looked to Ian before answering it. "Yeah, Mason?"

"Mickey, we need you to come in," he said, using his stern mob voice, which Mickey had only heard two or three times. Whenever he spoke to Mason, he was usually casual with Mickey, and never got too professional. 

"What's going on?" he asked, suddenly alarmed as he sat up straighter and felt his whole body tense up. 

"Rossi needs to talk to you and actually wants to meet Mikhail Milkovich," he almost barked through the phone. "You need to come in. You shouldn't have lied to him. He's gonna fucking kill you."

Mickey pulled the phone away from his cheek and cursed. "When? Where? I'll be there and he won't kill me." He was already standing and making his way to his room where he could change into an Italian suit. 

"I don't fucking know, Milkovich, you made a stupid fucking decision," he snapped and Mickey rolled his eyes. "Come to the pool house and be here in twenty minutes. Look presentable."

Mickey was just about to respond to Mason's snippiness, but he'd already hung up. "Fuck," he hissed, not bothering to close his door before stripping to his boxers and rifling through his closet for a pinstripe suit. 

"What's going on?" Ian asked, leaning against the door frame. 

He stepped into the black trousers and slid a white button up on, tucking it into the pants quickly. "Nothing, don't worry about it," he said, knowing he was already fucking up the trust they'd established, but he couldn't fucking involve Ian in that, it was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. 

"Mick," he said sternly, and Mickey shrugged into his suspenders, throwing on a suitcoat over his shoulders. "Come on."

"Ian, really, I'm keeping you safe by not telling you what's going on," he assured, walking towards the doorway. "I told you I'd protect you and I'm going to, okay?" He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Ian's lips, trying to slide past. He was stopped by Ian's hands on his chest. "Really, Gallagher, I gotta fucking go-"

"You gonna put a tie on?" he asked, crossing his arms. Mickey looked down to see he'd forgotten to put one on and sighed, going back into his closet to tie one around his neck. "Are we already gonna start you being all cryptic after that conversation we had like an hour ago?"

Mickey sighed deeply, skirting past Ian out of his bedroom door. "Look, Ian, you can't get involved in this shit any more than you already are. In fact, you shouldn't even _know_ anything else about this stuff, okay? So... no questions or anything when I get back, alright?"

"You sure you're gonna be coming back?" he asked warily, wringing his hands a bit as he followed Mickey to the door. 

Mickey softened a little, "Yes, Ian, I'm coming back." He nodded and grabbed Mickey's tie, using it to tug him forward and kissing him thoroughly. Mickey allowed it, kissing back until he felt Ian wrapping the tie around his hand and sliding his other hand around Mickey's back to press him closer. "Okay, I really do have to leave, though," he said, trying to detach himself from Ian's grip. 

"Just one more," he assured, leaning in to kiss him again. Mickey kissed back, but didn't indulge himself as much as he'd wanted to, simply pushing against Ian's chest and pulling his tie from the ginger's fist. 

"I have to go," he said, grabbing his keys and opening the door. "We'll finish this later," he assured, letting Ian give him one more peck before he closed the door  behind him and raced down to his car. 

If Rossi wanted to talk to Mickey face to face, it could mean one of three things- he actually wanted to fucking kill him, he wanted to give him a new contract and this one was really important (every other contract he'd gotten was given to him through Mason) or he wanted to turn Mickey into a made man of The Organization. The third option was the least likely considering Mickey wasn't completely Italian. Out of all three, though, the third was definitely the most dangerous. If he refused, he would be killed no doubt. The second was just as dangerous, though, because if the contract was for Ian and he refused, he would also be killed. And the first option was, of course, _murder._

So, even though he was pretty sure Rossi wouldn't murder him, he couldn't be positive. Capos usually liked to take care of their personal grievances with their own hands, and Mickey didn't doubt that his involvement with Ian would constitute a personal grievance. If Mason had ratted on him, that's no doubt what this meeting was about. He genuinely didn't know if that's something Mason would do or not. Mason was a soldier under Rossi's leadership, and wasn't a made man yet, but they all knew it would be coming. However, he was loyal to Mickey for some reason, and keeping that information from his Capo for some dick wasn't something he'd put past Mason. 

As he pulled out of the parking structure and started the familiar journey to Rossi's pool house, he worked hard at collecting himself. If he was going to appear nonchalant and laid back at Rossi's, he'd need to chill the fuck out. Mickey had worked hard his whole career at his acting abilities, and he knew every meeting was a performance, so all he had to do was shake his stage jitters. 

He took deep breaths and thought of possible scenarios. If he was turned into a made man it would be a surprise, and it would definitely suck him into the Outfit deeper than he'd expected. However, there was never really any guarantee that he would be able to keep himself on the surface of the mafia and not get pulled in further. It was incredibly unlikely, but not impossible. He slammed his hand against the wheel as he pulled up to the house. He didn't know if he should go in packing heat or not, but he stuffed his Glock into his coat anyways. Just because he had didn't mean he had to use it. Plus, if he used it on Mason, Rossi would kill him for sure, and if he used it on Rossi, the underboss would come for him, and that wasn't something he was interested in dealing with. Before leaving, he grabbed a small notebook and pencil just in case he needed to remember anything. Using his phone to take notes made him look unprofessional. 

He took one last deep breath and got out of the car, sauntering up to the door with fake confidence and rapped on it, waiting anxiously. Only moments after, Mason opened the door and ushered Mickey in quickly. He was greeted by three familiar faces including Sam, Benny and Rossi. He nodded at them, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

"How's it goin'?" he asked, trying to keep everything casual.

Rossi stood up, reaching his hand out to take Mickey's. He complied, shaking it firmly. "Mikhail, you know I've  known what you look like since I gave you your first contract, right?" Mickey's breath caught in his throat. "Now, I've got no hard feelings about you trying to keep your identity a secret, I know there's only so many people you can trust, Milkovich, but just know that I am one of them," he assured, placing his other hand over Mickey's and holding it firmly. "You're a trusted associate, Milkovich, so you have to trust me, understand?" 

Mickey nodded, his eyebrows furrowing. "I understand," he said sternly, and finally Rossi let go, grinning widely. What he trusted was that if Rossi ever tried to rat on him, he'd spread word around that Rossi spent his spare time in Boystown taking it up the ass. 

He wasn't afraid to play that card. 

"Alright, good, then I have a job for you," he said, finally releasing Mickey's hand and returning to his seat at the dining room table, urging Mickey to sit as well. "I'm sure you're familiar with the North Side Gang?" he asked and Mickey nodded. 

The North Side Gang and the Outfit had been "at war" in the past, and although there was no longer open fire between the opposing families, they still had a rivalry deeper than the Pacific that often lead to random little disputes between soldiers and associates, and sometimes Capos. He'd been taught since he was in this profession that the North Side Gang was absolute trash and only survived the St. Valentine's Day Massacre to see the downfall of the Outfit. He didn't know that he quite believed that, but he didn't care enough to find out the truth behind their existence. 

"Well, I'm sure you're familiar with Jack Zuta. I've got a contract for his great nephew, Tony Zuta, with your name on it, Milkovich," he offered, winking in Mickey's direction. "He owes us thousands and hasn't made any attempt to pay us back, and you know what his roots are like."

Jack Zuta was once a member of the Outfit and worked as an accountant before he two timed them and switched sides to the Northsiders during their war. Their lineage was slimy and everyone struggled with who to trust of the remaining Zutas. After Mickey took care of Tony, there would probably be only four Zutas left in the state. 

"When do you need him out by?" Mickey asked, pulling the notepad out of his inner breast pocket. He started scribbling onto it names and the areas he knew Northsiders hung around. 

"Next Tuesday," he answered. Rossi was usually pretty good when it came to deadlines, because he knew Mickey liked to learn people's routines before he took care of them. It had worked well so far, so Rossi didn't have a problem with his rituals. 

"Is that all you got for me?" he asked, placing his hands on the table to help pull himself up. 

"That's the only contract I got for you right now," he confirmed, inclining his head. Mickey felt relief rush through him that Ian's name wasn't even mentioned and he stood up. "Oh, and Milkovich?" Well, fuck. 

"Yes, sir?" Mickey replied, swallowing and freezing. 

"Your father was Italian, correct?" Rossi inquired, chewing on his inner cheek. Mickey nodded. "I've mentioned your name to the Commission," he said, and Mickey's eyebrows shot up. He heard a gasp come from where Mason was standing across the room. 

"Oh... well, alright," he responded, not giving away the fact that he was fucking horrified. 

Rossi grinned, reaching his hand out to shake Mickey's again. "Just remember that. You've done good work for us, Milkovich, I'm excited to see the places you go."

Mickey smiled back, and finally retracted his hand when Rossi let go. "Thank you, sir. I'll see you soon, then," he bid the rest of the men in the room farewell and waited for Mason to walk him to the door before leaving. 

"You don't fucking deserve this," Mason hissed once they got to the door. Mickey sighed and chewed at his lip. 

"Do you understand that I don't _want_ this? I'll do it, and I'm fucking grateful, but I never asked for it, Mason," he replied. "I know that you deserve it, you've been Rossi's right hand man longer than I've even been in the business."

"You're damn fucking right I have. You take care of your shit, I'll be giving you a call sometime," he growled, shoving Mickey out of the door. He slammed it behind Mickey, and he sighed heavily, waiting until he was in his car and down the block before letting out an angry shout. 

"Mother _fuck!"_ he burst. If his name was mentioned to the Commission and they approved him, he'd move up from associate to soldier, and although that may not seem like that big of a deal, it was. He'd be stuck with the mafia for life. Mason wasn't even a soldier, and it's what he'd been working for his whole life. 

If this went through, he'd be stuck in it like fucking barbed wire. He'd be wholeheartedly betraying his Capo by having feelings for Ian, and there would be no way for him to decline any contract he got, not that he really could anyways. 

He tapped his fingers against the wheel anxiously. He was wound tight as fuck now, not expected both a contract for a man in one of the most hated families in the North Side Gang, _and_ knowing that Rossi was in the process of making him a made man. Why the fuck did his father have to be Italian? Why did he have to get Mickey wound up in this shit?

He rolled his eyes, knowing damn well the answer was beyond his comprehension. Fathers in Chicago liked to fuck their kids up. The only positive Mickey could think of was that Rossi at least wasn't a fag basher, like plenty of the Capos he'd known before. How can you be a fag basher when you _are_ a fag? Of course, he knew it was possible for someone to be both, especially a gangster. 

By the time he arrived back home, he was dizzy with everything running rampid through his mind. He parked the car distractedly, locking it and heading up the stairs with far less gumption than he'd gone down them with. 

Even opening the door to a shirtless Ian doing push ups in his living room wasn't enough to raise his spirits. Much. 

"You're back already!" he greeted, jumping to his feet and grabbing the lapels of Mickey's suit coat to pull him forward and kiss him. 

Just like that, Mickey's troubles seemed to disappear and there was only Ian's soft lips and distracting tongue against his. His eyebrows furrowed a bit as he tried to understand it before deciding it wasn't worth thinking about. He wanted to be distracted from all the shit that had been piled on him. He wanted to only think about Ian for as long as he could. 

Mickey grabbed Ian's waist and kissed back fiercely, taking over their mouths and steering Ian to walk backwards to his bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him and guided Ian down onto his back on the bed, kicking his shoes off and running his fingers up Ian's naked torso. Mickey stroked his tongue harshly along Ian's and groaning in unison with his ginger partner. Ian pushed the coat off of Mickey and threw it onto the ground, pulling him farther back onto the bed by his tie. As usual, Ian was teaching Mickey more things about himself that he liked, such as being yanked closer by his clothes- ties, shirts, belt loops, suit coats. He moaned and complied, holding himself up with a hand on either side of Ian's head. 

Ian slid Mickey's suspenders down his arms, and panted against his mouth as he started unbuttoning Mickey's pants. He allowed it, leaning back down to kiss Ian's neck with wet, hot lips before he licked up it, sucking at the spot his jaw ended and savoring the noises he got in return. Ian pushed the pants down as far as he could and left Mickey to kick them off the rest of the way, letting his fingers knead into Mickey's ass. He groaned a little and when Ian used his leverage to grind Mickey's hips downwards into his, he laughed breathily against his neck. Ian was really not subtle in the slightest, not that he minded. Once the redhead seemed to be sure that he was going to keep up a steady rhythm rolling his hips downward, he started to unbutton Mickey's white shirt, returning their lips together. 

Ian pushed Mickey's shirt off and threw it across the room, biting Mickey's lip as he pulled away. The dark haired man started leaning down to kiss him again, but Ian grabbed Mickey's hips and flipped them over so he was on top, starting to kiss his neck instead. Mickey had to admit that he didn't mind the feeling of Ian's tongue where his shoulder met his neck. He sucked hard at the skin then started kissing down Mickey's chest, stopping at his nipple to bite harshly. Mickey gasped, threading his fingers through Ian's hair. 

As he kissed back up to Mickey's mouth, Ian let his fingers brush down his torso until he was slipping his hand into the shorter man's boxers, waiting for any sign that Mickey wanted him to stop. In response, Mickey reached into Ian's gym shorts and grasped his hard shaft without any warning. Ian gasped, opening his mouth enough that Mickey could lick into his hot mouth, keeping his left hand in Ian's hair as he started to slowly pump his fist over his redheaded companion. 

Ian did the same, albeit a little slower, as if he was savoring it. He swiped his thumb of Mickey's head and he arched off the bed, not used to the mixture of sensations that being jerked off and kissed at the same time brought him. His stomach felt like it was going to explode, and not in an overtly sexual way. He felt a little nauseous, but not in a sickening way; he definitely liked it, and liked it even more when Ian's teeth ran over his tongue. His fist grew a little jerky over Ian and he lost his rhythm for a moment, lost in the ginger's fucking tongue. How Ian had the ability to keep such a steady pulse over his length _and_ dominate Mickey's mouth like a fucking master, he had no idea, but he definitely wasn't going to complain. 

He felt himself getting close when Ian's mouth returned to his neck and nipped at some spots he knew were sensitive. He tightened his fist in Ian's hair, and his hips snapped forward a bit, to which Mickey grinned curiously. He used his grip to yank his head back even farther, allowing access for Mickey to work at his throat. Ian's noises were practically inhumane as Mickey fisted his hair and sucked at his skin. Hair pulling was _definitely_ Ian's thing, then. Before he could make a comment about it, Ian came into his hand unexpectedly. Well, then. He released his grip on his hair, and Ian's head dropped onto Mickey's shoulder as he breathed heavily against his neck.

"Fuck," he said shakily. Mickey was panting as he removed his hand from Ian's shorts and tugged them down since they were kind of wet. He wiped his hand off on them and tossed them away. Ian was still trying to collect himself against Mickey's throat. His hand still stroked around Mickey's shaft, even if it was a bit calmer than it had been before. 

"You good, Gallagher?" he asked breathily, arching off the bed to press his bare chest against Ian's as his hand tightened a bit. 

Ian nodded, just barely shifting his head to kiss Mickey's neck again. He kissed down the darker man's chest, still pumping along his length until he got to about Mickey's navel. He removed his hand and looked up at Mickey, winking before he bit the hem of his boxers and worked them over Mickey's erection with his mouth before tossing them across the room. 

"Ian, I-" the rest of his weak protest was lost as Ian put his mouth around Mickey. His voice gave out and his breath caught. In all his life, Mickey had never been one for oral, never been one for someone's mouth on him at all, and although Ian had already started breaking down his barriers by kissing him, oral felt far too intimate for it to be something he was interested in. That was until Ian came along, of course. With Ian's tongue running along the underside of his erection and his throat swallowing around Mickey, his chest tightened and his hands returned to Ian's hair, small noises escaping his mouth. Ian began bobbing his head more gracefully than Mickey could have imagined and he ran his fingers through the fiery red hair before grabbing it. He tugged harshly again, although it wasn't to pull Ian off. He didn't know that he ever wanted Ian to fucking stop. 

At the hair pulling, Ian groaned around Mickey, and the vibrations it caused along him were enough to push Mickey over the edge. In all reality, he was surprised he had lasted that long anyways. "I'm gonna-" His warning didn't phase Ian in the slightest, and he swallowed as Mickey came into his mouth, not even gagging a little. He pulled off of Mickey's length, looking down at him with a look of awe.

Mickey still hadn't caught his breath as Ian leaned down and kissed him sweetly, littering his jaw with soft kisses until he was able to breathe again. Finally, he looked over and made eye contact with the ginger. "Fuck, Gallagher," he sighed, deeply, laughing a little. 

Ian simply nodded, rolling off of Mickey to lay on his side next to him and look at him. "Fuck is right," he grinned, and leaned forward to kiss Mickey again. After pulling away, he reached for the foot of the bed, where sheets lay crumpled up, and pulled them up to cover both him and Mickey. He cuddled himself into Mickey's side, humming contently when he put is arm around Ian, then kissed him on the cheek before resting his head on Mickey's chest. 

Yeah, Gallagher was definitely breaking down Mickey's barriers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're welcome  
> you're welcome  
> youuuuuuuuu areeeeeeeee welcome :)  
> i figured with that heavy shit, ya'll deserved some of the other kind of heavy shit  
> also, double update fuck yeah  
> please comment! love ya <3


	14. Chapter 14

Mickey woke up in a cold sweat, panting heavily as he recovered from a forgotten nightmare. Immediately he felt an arm around him and he tensed, jumping up from the bed, reaching for the gun he kept in his bedside drawer swiftly before looking at the body. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and ran a hand through his hair, tossing it back into the drawer. 

"Fuck," he breathed, taking in the image of the angelic ginger with his eyes fluttered shut and his arm thrown haphazardly over the now empty side of the bed. He couldn't help but smile at the way Ian's mouth was open a bit and his face was nuzzled into the black pillow case. 

He adjusted the blankets covering his companion so he was tucked in nicely and made his way to the bathroom. He closed the door gently so he wouldn't wake Ian and rubbed his face again. After a moment collecting himself from his defensiveness, he pulled out his toothbrush and took care of his morning breath, because he knew it was dank. 

He left it on the counter and started the shower, setting the water to the hottest temperature possible. For the price of the apartment, Mickey and Mandy had surprisingly good water pressure. 

After stripping, tossing his clothes in the laundry basket and parting the curtains, he stepped into the shower. Immediately he felt his shoulders slouch and he allowed himself to think about the day before. 

Rossi had never given Mickey any reason to believe that he wanted him to become a made man. After he'd been carrying out Rossi's deeds for him for years and had never heard anything of it before. He figured that the reason he did all Rossi's dirty work was because he and his soldiers had better, more important work to do, and he was simply a trusted employee. Of course, he should have known that when you have anything to do with the mob, you'll get pulled in further than anticipated. 

His position as Rossi's hit man was a rare one anyways, considering the contracts Capos usually sent out had no payment behind them. Their usual payment was not getting fucking killed by a different hit man. However, when Mickey had gotten Rossi's first offer, he hadn't exactly known who he was or how the mob worked at all. Rossi had taken full advantage of that, simply acting as another random client who wanted someone dead. Little did Mickey know that he was about to get sucked into the most intense, prestigious underground organization in Chicago. 

He considered his options. The most obvious is simply doing it and killing this Tony guy, then letting Rossi and the Commission turn him into a made man. The other was doing something stupid enough to make Rossi change his mind about Mickey's loyalty, but not stupid enough to get him killed. Other than those two, death was the only option. The second would be a tricky, thin line to stay behind. There was no sure way to know that Rossi would even catch on to what he'd be trying to accomplish. 

And Mickey knew that if he was going to become a made man, he was going to have to cater to some random gangsters every need until more than just Rossi thought he was worthy of such. He wasn't exactly one for "serving" others, unless serving meant killing them. In either situation, he'd still have to kill Tony, which he wasn't overly excited nor averse to doing. 

The curtain to the shower flew open then and Mickey didn't jump physically, but inside he prepared himself to punch someone in the throat and defend himself. He relaxed when he saw that it was Ian, possibly the only person that had the ability to ease his worries. Especially when he was wearing as little as he was then. 

That being nothing. 

"Well good morning," he greeted the ginger, feeling a little calmer already, but still forcing himself to keep his voice even. 

"Mind if I join?" Ian asked with a smirk, not waiting for Mickey's answer to step in and close the curtain behind him. 

He chuckled, reaching for Ian's waist immediately and replying, "Does it matter?"

He shrugged a little and shook his dead before dipping it to kiss Mickey. He felt his troubles start slipping away at the feel of Ian's lips. Their kisses were slippery and a little sloppy, but he wouldn't have had it any other way. It felt a little different that morning, after what they'd done the night before. Mickey had never had the ability to feel the way that kisses and relationships evolved as they progressed, but he was fucking thrilled to start with Ian. 

Neither of them parted their lips, keeping the kisses soft and innocent, despite the fact that they were both naked and clutching each other under hot, running water. He couldn't tell if he preferred the sweet closed mouth kisses or the passionate, needy ones more so Mickey decided he wanted both equally. He wanted to feel the fact that Ian wanted him and couldn't stop himself, and he wanted to feel that Ian needed to kiss him just to express his emotions. 

Finally, Ian pulled away first, smiling a little and pecking a kiss on Mickey's nose. He jerked his head back a little. 

"I may like you, Gallagher, but I'm a fucking killer, you can't go around kissing my nose like that," he scolded, trying to push Ian away with a hand on his chest. 

Ian's face morphed into a combination of irritation and exasperation. "Don't say that," he responded, a little snippy. "Is that supposed to scare me? I can kiss you wherever I want."

"Yeah, go ahead and try, kid, I'll break your fuckin' nose," he threatened, pointing at Ian and raising his eyebrows. "Got it?" Ian rolled his eyes and tugged Mickey back by the front of his neck, kissing him hard on the mouth again. Mickey laughed a little, saying, "Little kinky, Gallagher?"

He went back to kissing him, finally letting his hands return to Ian's hips and parting his lips. The ginger cradled Mickey's face between his hands and slipping his tongue into Mick's mouth. He pressed a few more kisses onto Mickey's mouth before reaching behind him and then pulling away. 

"What gives, Gallagher?" he asked, smacking him on the stomach and looking to see what Ian was doing. Ian had a bottle of shampoo in his hands and poured a heavy drop into his palm, returning the bottle to the little rack on the wall and rubbing his hands together so it lathered. Mickey furrowed his eyebrows before realizing that Ian wanted to wash his hair. He placed his soapy fingers in Mickey's hair and started massaging his head to distribute it. 

"I want to wash you," he said simply, shrugging a little. 

"You want to wash me? What kind of gay shit- Gallagher, do you just not fucking care that I'm a-"

"You say 'killer' again and I'll make sure I get soap in your eyes, asshole," he cut Mickey off, his eyes fixated on the top of his head. 

Mickey sighed heavily, crossing his arms and looking around the small shower, accepting Ian's weird desire to wash his hair. Anyone could see that he secretly loved it, and was just trying (and failing) to maintain his gangster image. His eyes started traveling down Ian's body and he smirked a little, not giving much warning before he reached out, running his right hand down Ian's toned abs and taking his shaft into his hand. 

Ian's breath caught and he locked eyes with Mickey, eyes narrowed. Mickey simply smiled cheekily, starting to stroke the hardening length in his hand. Ian had froze, just looking at his dark haired companion as he moved his hand between them. "You gonna finish washing my hair, Gallagher?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and Ian licked his lips, wrenching Mickey's head back a little roughly to rinse it off under the water. Mickey laughed, still pumping his hand around Ian and savoring the bite on his skull where Ian was tugging. 

It seemed like he did the fastest rinse job in the world before his lips were back on Mickey's and he was shoving him roughly backwards into the tile wall. 

"Watch it," Mickey scolded when he slipped a bit. Ian's long fingers wrapped around Mickey's cock without hesitation, and he swiped his thumb over the tip before moving his hand quickly over it. His tongue was invading Mickey's mouth, and his teeth were biting harshly on his lips. Mickey knew immediately that he wasn't going to last nearly as long as he did last night, with Gallagher's fucking speed racer jerking off and his harsh movements, pressing Mickey hard into the wall, biting and wrenching at his hair. He got worked up pretty quickly, clinging to Ian and leaving barely enough space for their hands to move between their bodies. 

His stomach was tightening with pleasure, and he groaned into Ian's hot mouth, savoring the way he seemed to swallow Mickey's noises and shift their mouths so he had more control. Soon, he couldn't keep up with both Ian's mouth and hand, and he had to pull away to rest his forehead on Ian's wet shoulder as they finished each other off. 

"Fuck, Gallagher," he sighed once he came. 

Ian laughed against his neck before kissing it. "Let's get cleaned up."

***

Once they finally dressed themselves and exited the room, still pressing the occasional kisses to one another and laughing as they stumbled into the kitchen. 

"Aw, how fucking gay are you two?" Mandy asked, tipping a beer bottle back to take a swig. 

Mickey rolled his eyes, "What is it, ten o'clock, Mandy? Wanna wait til at least noon?"

"For your information, you twink, it's twelve oh six, so you can suck my dick," she shot back, sticking her tongue out. "Or you can just suck your boyfriend's."

He flipped her off, but inside his stomach clenched at the thought. It wasn't in a bad way, just in a bundle of nerves kind of way. 

"I like that idea," Ian smirked, smacking Mickey on the ass. He returned the favor by slapping Ian's chest and he simply laughed in response. 

"Now, what's the plan for today, you fuckers?" she asked, chucking the empty beer bottle in the garbage. 

"Can you grab me a bottle?" Mickey asked, flopping into a chair sloppily. Ian smacked his shoulder. "What, she said it's already noon!"

He rolled his eyes and reached for one of the muffins in the center of the table. "So, Mandy, are you taking up cooking, or?" Ian asked, biting into it. 

"Yeah, what the fuck's up with the constant food and early morning breakfast all the time?" Mickey added, grabbing a different kind of muffin and spreading butter onto it. 

She shrugged, tossing Mickey a bottle haphazardly, causing Ian to flinch as his companion caught it and sat across from them. "I don't know, it distracts me from the shit in my life."

"Shit in your life? What's going on? Whose kneecaps do I need to break?" Mickey demanded, already slipping into protective older brother mode. 

She sighed, taking a huge drink of her second (that they saw at least) beer and rubbed her eyes. "Just some of the assholes at the bar not leaving me alone," she admitted. "They all think that since I work at a strip club, I'm a stripper. They just don't take no for an answer."

Mickey cracked his knuckles out of habit and reached for a blunt she must have rolled earlier, lifting it to his lips and lighting it up. "Yeah, I think it's about time I accompany you to work some night and give them a little idea of what will happen if they keep fucking with you," he said, taking a hit. He felt Ian's hand on his thigh and looked over, smirking when he saw the ginger's eyes fixated on his mouth. 

"No, Mick, I don't want any of them think that they're gonna fuckin' die-" she paused, looking at Ian. "Fuck, I mean-"

"Oh, don't worry about it, he knows already," Mickey said, taking another hit. Ian's fingers ran up his thigh under the table and he played off his breath catching by pulling the blunt out and breathing smoothly. He cleared his throat, ignoring the hand for now. 

"You found out that Mickey is a hit man and you're still here?" she asked. "What's your problem?"

"Mandy, what the fuck?" Mickey laughed, placing his left hand over Ian's as it kept traveling upward on his leg and shooting him a look. 

"Well, it's not something people usually stick around after hearing," she shrugged, drinking her beer and holding out a hand for the blunt between Mickey's lips. He passed if over and she chuckled a little. "Although, I guess after the noises I heard coming from his room last night he must be good enough in bed to keep you around."

Ian had the decency to at least look a little embarrassed and Mickey shrugged. 

"I've heard worse coming from yours," he shot back. 

"Anyways, wanna go back and make some more noises?" Ian asked, stroking his thumb over Mickey's thigh. He took a deep breath in and narrowed his eyes as he thought it over. 

"Yeah," he finally said and the boys stood up. 

"Can you take the blunt?" Ian asked and Mickey snatched it from Mandy's hands before following after Ian quickly. 

Mandy groaned from the kitchen. "God damn it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short and i'm a bitch but i'll update tomorrow  
> love you!  
> please comment <3


	15. Chapter 15

As it turned out, Ian seemed to get just as much out of watching Mickey as he did. Once they came out of Mickey's room again, they both looked equally disheveled and Mandy rolled her eyes, still sitting at the kitchen table and this time scrolling on her phone. 

"Did you satisfy your hormonal little bodies?" she asked, and both men shrugged. "Well whatever. What are we doing today?"

Mickey sat back down and ran a hand through his messy hair. "Well I have some shit to take care of," he admitted without elaborating. He had to go start getting into this Tony guy's groove if he was going to take care of him quietly. 

"Oh, I'll go with you," the two said in unison, giggling afterwards. Mickey rolled his eyes. 

"Neither of you will be coming with me," he corrected, shaking his head and not meeting their eyes. "Official business that is none of your business."

Mandy laughed in understanding. "Oh you got some murder-y shit happening," she said, although it didn't really sound like a question. Mickey just looked up at her and didn't say anything in response. He wasn't thrilled about having to take care of this just knowing what would come afterwards. 

"Oh..." Ian said, his eyebrows furrowing. 

"That bother you, carrot top?" Mandy asked, resting her chin in her palm. Mickey shot her a look. He knew it had to bother Ian, it bothered _everyone._ There was often times no getting around it. If he dealt with it by not talking about it just like Mandy and Mickey did, Ian would be fine. 

He shrugged indifferently, but Mickey could clearly see his hesitance. "I still kind of wanna go with you," he admitted and his partner shook his head. 

"I told you I'm not letting you get involved in this shit, Gallagher, and I'm not," he said with finality and rubbed his eyes. "I'll swing by when I'm done and we can do something, alright?"

He chewed his lip as he contemplated. "I don't know... maybe I should start looking for an apartment. I've just been crashing here, but I need my own place."

Mickey flinched a bit and Mandy whined loudly. "No," he replied simply, reaching for his forgotten beer and taking a hearty swig. 

"Excuse me?" Ian asked, his eyes narrowing at Mickey. 

"Look, maybe it's just me, but I don't want to see some mobster kill you, and if you're living on your own without protection, one of them probably will. If you're here, people will at least know that I'm here and will probably respect that a bit more," he responded. "But if you want to move alone without any defense, fucking go for it."

"Are you really getting pissy with me for caring about this?" Ian snapped, and Mickey looked at him in surprise. 

"Caring about what? Getting your own place?"

"No about you fucking killing someone today!" he barked back. Mandy got up from the table wordlessly and fucking booked it down the hall to her room to avoid the confrontation that was bound to ensue. 

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Please, I'm not fucking killing him today. And you said it was going to be hard for you to feel any different about me because of this, Gallagher, so what the fuck is your deal?"

"Just because I can be into you despite that it doesn't mean that it doesn't still bother me, Mickey," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It doesn't affect how I feel about you, it just... I guess it might take a little getting used to."

He chewed on his lower lip and nodded. "I guess that's fair."

Ian propped his legs up on Mickey's lap, and he immediately felt a little more at ease. Ian's weird reaction to his job had started to get him nervous, and really the fact that he was so affected by what Ian thought scared him just as much as the thought of Ian leaving. "I'm sorry, I don't want to make this harder on you, Mick, but... I don't know I just moved away from my family to get away from drama and shit like this and it's weird to start getting into it again," he said, and Mickey blinked in confusion. He'd never really talked about his past or his family before. 

"Well, I don't want to add to your drama-"

"No, that's not my point," Ian assured, reaching for Mickey's hand. He laced their fingers together and looked up at the dark haired man, whose chest felt like it was about to burst. "I miss the drama, I just need to get used to it again, you know?"

Mickey didn't know, not really. If he were Ian and he didn't want to be involved with drama, he'd get the fuck out of that house immediately and never talk to himself again. However, he wasn't about to even offer that up as an option to Ian, not that he'd stop him if he wanted to leave. 

"I guess so," he said, chewing on his lip again. 

"Will you stop that? It's distracting," Ian scolded, and Mickey adjusted his hold on his hand and took time to lick his lips before laughing when Ian sneered a little and looked away. He reached out with his free hand and grasped the ginger's chin, pulling his face closer to kiss him. Ian immediately reacted, resting his fingers on Mickey's shoulders and shifting his legs so he was in Mickey's lap straddling him. 

He was thankful Ian was responding to him, although he didn't know why he expected anything less. He hated that Ian was afraid of what he did, even though now it seemed he didn't exactly have a choice in his decisions anymore. Either way, he just wanted to keep kissing him, since nothing seemed quite as bad when Ian's mouth was pressing against his. 

He licked Ian's lips, waiting for him to open them and furrowing his eyebrows when he didn't. He placed his hands on Ian's thighs and squeezed a little, still getting no reaction from the ginger. 

"What gives, Gallagher?" he finally pulled away, looking up at Ian's green eyes. "You good?"

Ian nodded, running his fingers through Mickey's hair. "Yeah, I'm good," he replied, just looking at his partner and not really saying anything. Mickey just let Ian brush his fingers along his head and neck, watching his face change. "I still wanna go with you," he finally admitted, his hands running back up Mickey's neck and threading them through his hair again. 

Mickey sighed and shook his head, "Ian, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not letting you be a part of this? You already don't like that I'm going it, and if you even come, you'll become and accessory and-"

"I don't _care,_ Mick, I just wanna be with you," he mumbled, leaning forward to speak against Mickey's neck and kiss it between his words. 

Figuring it was meant to distract him, and accepting the fact that Ian was succeeding, Mickey whined a little. He really did want to spend time with Ian, but he'd vowed that he wasn't making him a part of organized crime. 

"I don't care what you do to me, I'm not letting you come," he said mid-groan as the ginger sucked hard at his neck. 

Ian huffed heavily and pulled away, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can protect myself, Mickey, I've had a lot of fucking practice over the years," he insisted, although he didn't get off of Mick's lap, to his great pleasure. 

The dark haired man sighed and reached out to rest his hands on Ian's thighs gingerly, still hesitant with the whole "casual touching" thing. "Look, Gallagher, I never said that you couldn't. But... the fucking _mafia_ is different than some street rats who stole your bicycle," he argued and ran his fingers up the gingers sides. "Once you get beef with the mob, the tension is only resolved when someone is dead. And since you're not a part of it, that someone would be you," he said, looking up at Ian's pleading eyes. "And, you've already sort of started shit up with _two_ made men of the Outfit. _Plus,_ you're gay. And mobsters don't exactly take kindly to twinks. Even cute ginger twinks who are secretly having affairs with closeted mobsters."

Instead of addressing _any_ of the dangerous shit Mickey had told him, Ian sat down a little firmer on his lap and slipped his fingers under the hem of Mickey's shirt. "What do you mean _two_ men in the Outfit?" he asked, letting his fingers explore the darker haired man's torso and chest while running his lips along Mickey's hard jaw. 

"I mean Gustavo and Damion, fuck you mean?" he asked, his voice straining a bit and lowering at the end when Ian sucked under his ear. Damn, he was never gonna get rid of his fucking hickeys. Not that he wanted to, but they didn't look very professional _or_ intimidating for that matter.

He bit at Mickey's throat and spoke against his neck, "Wouldn't that make you number three?"

Mickey swallowed, letting his eyes fall shut as he accepted the fact that he was a goner at this point. His breath caught a bit as Ian pinched his left nipple and he cleared his throat. "I'm not a member of the Outfit," he corrected. Technically he wasn't a made man, which meant he was just an associate. 

Ian abruptly pulled away, but left his hands on Mickey, looking into his blue eyes. "Wait, you're not?"

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed as he studied the ginger. "No... that a problem for you?" he asked. "You got a thing for mobsters?"

Ian shook his head, a smile ghosting at his lips. "I just... it's nice to know you're not in as deep as I'd expected," he admitted, shrugging. 

Suddenly, Mickey felt a little guilty and gently removed Ian from his lap. It was true, he _wasn't_ a member of the mob, but that didn't mean he wasn't in deep. Far too deep for his liking. "Well... I really do have to go, Ian," he said, patting the side of Ian's face gently and standing up to walk back to his room and change. 

"How long will you be gone?" Ian asked as he started walking away. 

He paused and turned back. "Most of the day probably, why?"

Ian shrugged, "Well I start work at five tonight until three and I just wasn't sure if I'd see you before I left."

Mickey shrugged and scratched the side of his face with his thumb. "Probably not."

The ginger nodded, but didn't say anything, and he took that as his cue to continue to his room. Once he was there, he stripped and opted for an outfit that was neither too fancy nor too bum-y. He slipped into a pair of plain jeans, a white shirt and his leather jacket. He, with no intention to do so, looked like an off-duty mobster. He completed the look with a pair of Converse Chuck Taylors, and ended up looking more like a 50's greaser than anything. He shrugged, not caring enough to change, and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his dresser, popping one in his mouth and stuffing the rest of the pack in his pocket. 

When he exited the room and saw Ian still sitting at the table, his eyebrows furrowed but he didn't say anything. Instead, he reached for the lighter sitting on the table in front of the ginger and put it in the jacket pocket near the rest of the pack. Mandy didn't like it when he smoked normal cigarettes in the house. "I'm gonna head out," he said, taking his phone and putting it in his jean pocket before clapping Ian on the shoulder and heading for the door. 

"Mickey," he called before he could reach for the knob. He turned to look at Ian with an eyebrow raised. "Get your short ass over here and kiss me goodbye, you inconsiderate fuck," he demanded, and if anything, his eyebrow lifted even higher. 

However, he complied, walking over to the table slowly and removing the cigarette with two fingers from his right hand, while using his left to balance himself on the table as he leaned down and kissed his ginger companion. When he realized it wouldn't be a simple peck, and Ian's hands reached up to frame his face, he used his right palm to cup the back of the ginger's neck and opened his mouth at the feel of Ian's tongue against his lips. 

Even though the ginger seemed to be able to hold out when it came to Mickey's advances, he was utterly and completely helpless to Ian's, and did damn near anything he wanted. But when Ian's hands moved from Mickey's face and to his ass before tugging him down onto his lap, he knew it was just a ploy to keep him from leaving. 

"I actually do have to- leave, Ian," he said with his lips still pressed against the redhead's. 

He wrapped an arm around Mickey's back and used the other to grasp the back of his neck, tipping it back so he could have control over their mouths, a tactic Mickey had no protests to. He let his arms fall around Ian's shoulders, the cigarette still tucked neatly between his fingers. 

"I think," he said, pulling away just enough that their lips still touched every time he mumbled a word, "that you can wait just a few minutes," he assured, letting his tongue touch Mickey's lips before the rest of his mouth. He didn't exactly give the redhead a second to let the rest of himself catch up, because he pulled him back roughly to kiss him hard and thoroughly. It's not like they were never going to see one another again, but that didn't mean Mickey didn't want to soak up as much Ian as humanly possible before shit hit the fan, like it always did. 

* * *

 

Once Ian finally let him leave the house, Mickey probably had five new hickeys to account for. Nevertheless, once he reached his car, he pulled out his phone and studied the information he'd found the night before, sometime after Ian had fallen asleep. He had found Tony Zuta's address, phone number and his cover job. Most of the men in Chicago had some sort of clever cover job that wouldn't draw too much attention without making themselves look like pansies, but Tony? Tony worked at the fucking movie theater concessions. 

Mickey didn't exactly know how to make himself look inconspicuous while spending all day stalking someone in a god damn movie theater, but he figured that was for him to find out later. Truthfully, when he found out Tony worked there, he felt a little disappointed because he knew he'd never be able to take Ian to the movies without feeling the need to check his back every two fucking minutes. 

Either way, he found a triangular GPS location of Tony's phone and saw that he was en route to the theater at that very moment. He rolled his eyes and started driving in the direction of Tony's car, still wondering how the fuck he was going to pull this off. He wasn't planning on pulling anything that day, just on observing his target's schedule and routine. It all depended on how long he was going to be working that day, since his schedule wasn't something Mickey was able to find online. 

He did, however, find a Facebook profile- which he didn't spend too much time looking at- just to get a good idea of what Tony Zuta looked like. He was a classic Italian looking mobster, with slicked back black hair and an appropriate amount of scruff littering his jaw. He wasn't a bad looking guy, about mid-30's. Mickey hadn't gotten a very thorough reason as to why he got a contract for Tony, not that Rossi would willingly give one, but he did remember hearing that he probably wasn't going to pay Gustavo back, which Mickey believed willingly. 

One of Rossi's biggest "business tactics" was loansharking, which he had always thought was a stupid concept, but never said anything about. Only truly desperate, broke people ever came to members of the Outfit for money, and Northsider with a reputation like Zuta had to be an absolute fucking _moron_ to do something like that. It was fully believable, as the stigma surrounding the Zuta family was anything but positive, but Mickey liked to see rumors being proved wrong and was disappointed that Tony was just following in his great uncles footsteps of being a goddamn imbecile. 

If he was going to get anywhere in the mob business, either getting further into it, or weaseling his way out, he was going to have to start thinking with a gangster mindset. Before he killed Zuta, he should shake him down for the cash he owed to Rossi. It wasn't something he was happy or particularly comfortable with doing, but that's what any other member of the Outfit would do, whether they intended to keep the cash for themselves or give it to the person who had given out the contract. 

He arrived at the theater before Zuta, and sat in the parking lot casually as he waited for him to arrive, still unsure of what he'd do once Tony showed up. 

It didn't take long, surprisingly, and Mickey figured either his shift started in ten minutes, or started twenty minutes ago with the way Zuta was scrambling inside like a mad man. He waited patiently in the car, deciding it was safest to avoid contact with Tony on the off chance he'd heard about Mickey. Anyone who had heard of him found it semi easy to recognize him because of his damn knuckle tattoos, just providing him with another reason to avoid leaving his home. 

To his complete and utter surprise, Tony exited the building twenty minutes later, a piece of paper in hand. Maybe he'd just come to pick up a check or something. 

Still, Mickey decided to follow him as he pulled out of the parking lot, and sighed as he prepared himself for a far more hands on day than he'd been expecting. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the kind of late update but hey here's a chapter! hope you enjoyed it! please comment my lovelies and i'll do my best to update within a few days <3 love ya!


	16. Chapter 16

One of the only things Mickey had to say after following a so called "Italian thug" around all day long was that Tony Zuta was without a doubt the most _boring fucker_ he'd ever had the great pleasure of offing. After leaving the theatre, Tony went to fucking Chipotle, where he met a girl who wore a skin tight dress that didn't even cover the bottom inch of her right ass cheek. There, he handed her a stack of bills, with which she flipped through before giving Tony the bird and storming out of the restaurant. 

Mickey remained in the car the whole time so he would go unseen, but truthfully, he would bet that even if he followed Tony to every damn place he went, he would still remain unnoticed. After the hooker girl left, Zuta remained in his booth alone for almost _two_ hours and proceeded to eat _three_ burrito bowls before leaving. With an exasperated sigh, Mickey checked the clock- 4pm- and pulled out. 

The only thing he'd really been able to focus on the whole time was Ian. He wanted to catch Ian before work, which he knew now was not going to happen since he started in an hour. He figured if he kept with Zuta until around 8, he'd stop in by the mini mart before Ian got off.

Zuta turned onto the freeway, and Mickey made sure to drop back a few cars and to the right one. He could keep a steady eye without the fear of making eye contact with Tony through his mirror. After nearly an hour of speeding down the highway through rush hour traffic, they got off on an exit to a shady looking town. 

Mickey tapped his fingers impatiently on his steering wheel, trying hard to fall back into traffic and struggling due to the absolute lack of people on the roads. Just as he was debating whether or not to turn back, his phone rang and Tony turned into the parking lot of a corner store. He flinched a little before cursing and grabbing the phone from the center console. 

"Fucking what!?" he barked, pulling into a parking spot far enough away from the door to go unnoticed, had there been a single car in the lot. 

"Woah, Mr. Grumpy-pants," Ian's voice came through defensively. 

"Sorry, sorry," he soothed right away, rubbing his face. "You at work yet?"

Ian cleared his throat before replying, "Yeah I've been here like ten minutes and it's fucking dead. How much longer are you gonna be _gone?"_

"I don't know, this guy is fucking boring so I don't know what to do," Mickey admitted. "I guess I'll leave in like twenty minutes if he doesn't start doing some interesting shit."

He unbuckled, just to get comfortable and waited as he heard Ian sigh. "Well, if I knew someone in the mafia- cough cough-" Mickey rolled his eyes. "I'd think that he doesn't ever do anything worth while _during the day."_

And then Mickey realized what a fucking idiot he was. Ian was right, he fucking _never_ did anything during the day unless it was make out with Ian or watch Game of Thrones until it was after eight. Only then did he actually go out and do his work or make money. So why would Tony Zuta be any fucking different?

"Fuck," he laughed. "I'm an idiot," he said, scratching the side of his face. Now he was gonna have to spend even more time following Tony around. "Well that means I probably won't be home tonight."

"Mick, you were gonna pick me up from work!"

"Yeah at _three_ in the morning," he sighed. "Motherfuck."

"Why don't you just do it tomorrow then? Come visit me at work instead," he begged and Mickey groaned, rubbing his eyes. Tony started his way out of the corner store with a bag of Hot Fries and a metal container full of lighter fluid. "What the fuck are you doin', Zuta?" Mickey muttered.

"Zuta? Is that his name? Actually, no, don't tell me I don't wanna know his name," Ian replied. Mickey rolled his eyes. Why the fuck was Ian so damn nosy when knowing shit upset him?

"Yeah, babe, I gotta go," Mickey said distractedly, watching Tony get into his car and pull away. He blessed his lucky stars as another car soared down the street behind him and shifted gears to follow. 

"Babe!?" Ian burst incredulously, but his partner had stopped listening and hung up. What would Tony Zuta need lighter fluid for? Was he going to burn some innocent victim at the stake? Was he going to set fire to Rossi's home so he wouldn't have to pay him back? Mickey's blood started pumping faster as he followed.

***

As it turned out, Tony Zuta needed lighter fluid because he didn't seem to know how to start a bonfire without it. He watched with his car lights off in the woods, watching as Tony and four of his friends- three women and one man- switch off taking rips from a bong. 

Mickey slammed his hand on the wheel and cursed loudly. He'd followed this son of a bitch for ten fucking hours just to watch him get high and make a shitty bonfire? Fuck that. 

He pulled out and sped off down the empty roads of the small town Tony decided to fuck off in. He merged onto the highway angrily, heading straight for Ian's work. It was around two am, just long enough for him to get to Ian and sit with him for about ten minutes before taking him home. The ride was uneventful as no one was on the highway because it was _two in the fucking morning._ He'd never had a contract for someone this fucking boring, who he hadn't seen do terrible things. He couldn't say he was too fucking surprised, though. The Zutas were already pretty wealthy, although if he'd borrowed money from Rossi, Tony had probably been cut off. He was still a child who seemed to not do anything to constitute being a mobster. Either way, though, Mickey didn't have a choice as to whether or not he had to kill him, and didn't really feel too much anxiety or guilt about it. Not yet anyways. 

Finally, after stewing in his own anger, he pulled into the empty lot at the 24 hour grocery store. Empty aside from a dark Cadillac in the corner, but that was probably just the next employee coming to relieve Ian or a random customer coming because they ran out of condoms in the middle of the night. 

He got out, shoving his keys into the pocket of his leather jacket and putting a cigarette between his lips without lighting it. He'd actually smoke it once they left. "Aye, carrot top, fuck you at?" he asked when he got in. Ian wasn't behind the register, so the entire store looked practically abandoned. 

When he didn't get a response, he started worrying. Whose car was in the lot? Had they taken Ian or tortured him or _killed_ him? He started to feel shaky and walked to the aisles, storming past them to see if there was anyone in the store. 

Confused and concerned, he removed the cigarette and scratched the back of his head. "Gallagher?" he called again, and heard a shout from the opposite side of the store, near the entrance and the door to the breakroom. "Fuck."

He ran to the source of the noise, throwing his cigarette and opened the door he assumed was to the break room. He jumped at the sight, reaching immediately into his coat and sneering. Mason had Ian pressed against the wall, a knife in his hand with the blade pressed to Ian's neck. Their faces were close together, and Ian looked far too calm for someone with his life on the line while Mason looked furious. 

"What the _fuck,_ Mason!?" he burst, pulling his Glock from his inner pocket and pointing it at him. Mason looked over at Mickey but didn't move his dagger. "Get the fuck away from him," he said, his voice lowering into something darker than he'd ever used around Ian. 

Mason laughed a little, "Why should I, huh? So that you two can keep fucking around behind my boss's back? So that you can keep betraying him and _still_ be turned into a made man!? I don't owe you fucking anything, Milkovich."

Mickey licked his lips, his hand steadying as he fingered the trigger. It would be so fucking easy to take care of him right now. But he didn't want to do anything in front of Ian, despite the fact that he was way too calm about the whole thing.

"Mason, look, I made it perfectly clear to you _every fucking time_ that I didn't feel anything for you-"

"That's not what this is about!" he barked, and Ian flinched a little, but shook it off quickly. "This is about you getting what I've been working toward my _whole_ life! This whole thing was a side job to you and now Rossi thinks you're some valued associate ready to be a soldier. Are you ready to be a soldier, Milkovich? And you know what the worst part is? You don't even _want_ it! And I can't tell Rossi, because then he'd know that I knew about your bullshit with Ian the whole time and he'd have both of us killed! Is this what you fucking wanted? Were you _trying_ to push me to the point of breaking? Are you fucking happy with yourself?"

Mickey couldn't help but laugh. He kept his gun steady, though, not bothering to move it and try to have a rational discussion. "How did you fucking get here? I didn't do shit to you, Mason. You built this whole thing up in your head, okay? You're right, I don't wanna be a soldier. Rossi was supposed to be a fucking client and now he controls everything I do. I don't fucking care whether or not you've been working to be a soldier but obviously he doesn't want to make you a made man, alright? Not my fucking fault, not your fucking fault. It's Rossi. If you wanna kill someone for this, kill _him._ Do you think it's Ian's fault that Rossi doesn't want you to be a soldier? Because the only thing that's Ian's fault is maybe Rossi wanting you as his little fuck buddy."

Mason's face scrunched up in anger a bit and he pushed away from Ian, throwing the knife across the room away from all of them. Ian swallowed visibly and nodded at Mickey to show that he was okay. Mason lifted his hands in the air in surrender, sucking on his teeth. "Fuck you want me to do, then, Milkovich?" he asked, and now that Ian was out of direct danger, he pointed the gun down to Mason's thigh and pulled the trigger without a second thought. Thankfully, the shot wasn't loud because of the silencer, but Mason's reaction was.

"Don't get any blood on the floor," he hissed as Mason let out a strangled, pained yell. 

" _WHAT THE FUCK, MILKOVICH!?"_ he screamed, covering the bullet wound with his hands and staggering backwards onto the arm of the couch. "Fucking _shit!"_ he barked, and Ian rushed over to stand next to Mickey, who shoved his gun back into his coat and looked over at the ginger. 

"Mick," he said quietly. Behind the word, he could tell Ian obviously disapproved but wasn't going to say anything about it. 

He took a few steps forward, putting his hand up to keep Ian in place. He placed a hand on Mason's untouched thigh and leaned forward, whispering, "You ever have a fucking weapon to his neck and I'll have you burned and buried faster than it takes to make you cum, you got it?" Mason hissed loudly, but nodded, knowing there wasn't a single part of the threat that Mickey didn't mean. "Now get the fuck out of this store." Mason struggled to stand and his eyes went a little out of focus as his knees began to give out. 

"Fuck, Mickey, he's going into shock- fucking catch him!" Ian barked, and Mickey rolled his eyes before grabbing Mason's arm haphazardly, barely giving him enough attention to keep him from falling. "We have to get him to the ER," he added, rushing to Mason's other side and placing his arm over his shoulders. 

"Are you fucking kidding me? He tried to fucking kill you, Gallagher!" Mickey sneered, tightening his grip on Mason's arm. 

"So you just wanna let him die?" Ian asked, his eyebrows furrowing. 

Mickey rolled his eyes, walking in sync with the redhead as he began dragging Mason to the door. "I shot him in the leg, he won't fucking die," he said. 

"Do you see how much fucking blood is coming out? You probably hit the femoral artery," he explained, shifting Mason's weight. "He could bleed out."

"I didn't hit his femoral artery, I know what I'm doing, Ian," he shot back. "And either way, it didn't go all the way through, so he'll be fine for a while."

"He's still in shock, and that's just as dangerous as it going through," he said, pulling him forward faster. Mickey rolled his eyes and pulled out his burner phone. "Who the fuck are you calling?"

"I'm calling an ambulance so we can get the fuck out of here without any questions," he explained as though it should've been obvious. He dialed 911 and took care of the call, despite being a little reluctant to make it in the first place. "Alright put him down on this bench and we'll leave."

Ian bit his lip and set him down on the bench, looking pale and out of sorts. "I'm so sorry," he said quietly to Mason before Mickey grabbed him by the arm and raced to the Mustang. 

"Let's fucking lock and load, kid," he growled, opening Ian's door and shoving him in before rounding the car to the driver's seat and racing out of the parking lot quickly. The firehouse wasn't very far from the store, so the ambulance would get there quickly and would ask questions if they were around. 

"I can't believe you just shot him," Ian said quietly. 

Mickey's jaw dropped and he looked over at Ian in surprise. "Are you fucking kidding me!? He had a knife to your throat and was threatening your life and you're pissed at me for shooting him!? I didn't go for a _kill_ shot or anything!"

"Yeah but you would've if I hadn't been there," he said, crossing his arms. "And I never said I was pissed at you for it."

He shook his head and sped into the parking structure, wanting to get upstairs and just fucking go to sleep. "Yeah, well then why the fuck was it worth mentioning? And you're right, I would have killed him if you wouldn't have been there. But if you hadn't been there, he wouldn't have either so don't fucking worry about it."

Ian didn't reply, just pouted and looked out the window until they were parked and Mickey slammed out of the car, so pissed he didn't know what to do with himself. He was glad for one thing that he still had the ability to reason with Mason while Ian's life was on the line- it meant that he still had some control over himself when it came to the impossible redhead. However, this was the exact reason he was so hesitant about giving in to Ian. The only reason he'd been in that position was because Mason knew he was Mickey's Achilles heel. And he was pissed at Ian for making it difficult for him, and making him not only call an ambulance, but feel _bad_ about shooting Mason. He wouldn't feel bad if Ian wasn't acting like he'd done something awful. 

He stormed into the apartment angrily, resisting the urge to slam the door in Ian's face. He shouldn't have been mad at him, but he was. Ian was treating him as though he was the one who had threatened his life, being short with him and shit. He heard Ian shut the door gently behind him and went into his room right away. 

Mickey threw his jacket onto the floor and kicked off his shoes and jeans, leaving him in a pair of black boxers and his plain white shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Ian to come in after him since he knew he was going to get some kind of lecture. He assumed the ginger was checking in with Mandy, and he chewed the inside of his cheek distractedly until Ian finally walked calmly into the room, shutting the door behind him. He shrugged off his work shirt and took off his shoes. Mickey swallowed, knowing that a shirtless Ian would make it _very_ difficult for him to concentrate, although he didn't voice his concern. 

Ian just leaned back against the door and bit at his lip for a few seconds, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. "You wanna know why it was worth mentioning?" Ian asked, swallowing thickly before looking up at Mickey. He furrowed his eyebrows as he waited. "Because..." he chewed the inside of his cheek and walked towards his dark haired companion, who let his legs fall apart so Ian had room to stand between them and place his hands on Mickey's shoulders. "It was really fucking hot," he whispered, starting to kiss Mickey's neck. 

His eyebrows furrowed deeper and he asked, "What?"

That was not what he'd been expecting. He thought Ian was going to tell him that seeing him in that position made it impossible for him to stay with Mickey. Or something negative like that. He had _not,_ however, been expecting to get laid. 

Ian pushed Mickey backwards on the bed, running his fingers down his chest and moving his mouth to Mickey's. He kissed him eagerly, hard and hot. Mickey didn't have any sort of protest, though, simply kissing back and grabbing Ian by his hips, tugging him forward into his lap. His tongue shoved into Mickey's mouth and he moaned in a way he'd never heard before. 

Ian pulled away, already breathing heavily, and Mickey started kissing his neck. "Seeing you in a position like that was really distracting, you know," he groaned as Mickey bit down. "And knowing that you could've killed him but didn't for me is-" Mickey sucked under his year. "-is _really_ fucking sexy."

Mickey was kind of confused as to how it got Ian going like that, but he wasn't about to complain. With the way he was grinding down into the dark haired man though, Mickey was almost positive that they were actually going to have sex that night. They'd only ever given each other handys, and Ian had blown him a few times, but Mickey hadn't returned the favor and they hadn't actually fucked yet. 

Ian pulled Mickey's shirt over his head and tossed it across the room, pressing his mouth back onto his companion's. He reached down into Mickey's boxers and started palming him a little roughly. He started working at Ian's black work jeans, trying to multitask as he was being jerked off and kissed at the same time. Unlike his ginger partner, he wasn't so great at doing it all at once. Eventually though, he managed to yank them off and didn't waste any time getting Ian's length into his hand. He flipped them roughly so Ian was under him, which Ian responded to with a throaty groan. 

He bit at Mickey's lip and pushed his boxers off, letting them fall off the bed as Mickey did the same. Suddenly, he was filled with the desire to have Ian in his mouth. He took a moment to think, feeling bad about freezing in the middle of their make out session, but knowing it was necessary. It wouldn't be his _first_ blowjob, but it would definitely be the first he'd ever actually wanted to give. 

"Are you okay?" Ian asked hoarsely, panting. Mickey nodded and started kissing down his neck, returning his hand to Ian's shaft and pumping it as he made his way down his body. Ian buried his fingers into Mickey's hair, fisting it as his mouth neared Ian's length. 

Mickey thought about how he was going to go about sucking Ian off before he came to his senses and gave into instinct. He put his mouth around Ian's head and kept moving his hand, soaking in the groan Ian let out. Gradually, he took more of Ian into his mouth and let his eyelids fall shut, placing his hands on Ian's thighs. 

Ian tugged hard at Mickey's hair as he began bobbing his head and hollowed his cheeks around the ginger, his moans only spurring Mickey on. He moved faster, and when he risked a glance up at the redhead, he saw his eyes shut and his chest moving up and down rapidly. He flattened his tongue against Ian's cock and swallowed around his shaft. 

"Mick, I'm gonna fucking-"

Had any other person warned him that they were going to come in his mouth, he'd have removed himself so fucking fast, they probably would've smacked him. But with Ian, he simply swallowed again, and did his best not to gag when he finished, swallowing it before removing his mouth. 

He cleared his throat and sat up, looking down at a panting Ian, who refused to break eye contact. "Well," Mickey said, also breathing heavily. "That was fun."

Ian grabbed him by the back of the throat and yanked him down to kiss him deeply, using the other hand to finish Mickey off. He barely lasted another thirty seconds, and when he came into Ian's hand, he didn't stop kissing him, simply shifting so he was straddling the redhead. 

"Mick, I gotta breathe," Ian finally gasped, turning his head to the side and grabbing a pair of one of their boxers from the floor to wipe his hand off, all while Mickey kept kissing his neck. 

Although they didn't fuck, Mickey knew what he'd done was far more intimate to him than having sex was anyways. After a few languorous kisses to Ian's throat, he pulled away and pressed one last one to Ian's lips and rolled off of him. 

"You're fucking amazing," Ian mumbled as Mickey pulled his blankets over them, sighing contently when Ian rested his head on Mickey's chest and threw his leg over his hips. Mickey wrapped his arm around the ginger and kissed the top of his head. 

"Yeah, I know." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i suck?  
> yeah   
> does mickey suck?  
> FUCK YEAH HE DOES  
> lol i'm funny  
> sorry for the late update babes  
> i'll update soon! please comment my loves <3


	17. Chapter 17

Mickey woke up practically sweating his damn balls off with the way Ian was wrapped completely around him. At some point during the night, he'd crawled all the way on top of Mickey and wound his limbs around him. Despite the fact that he felt he may be at risk of heat exhaustion, he made no move to remove Ian and simply ran his fingers through the ginger's hair and looked up at the ceiling. 

He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with the stupid ginger who seemed to have a hold of him. Last night alone proved that he was in constant danger, and had Mickey not shown up to threaten and fucking _shoot_ Mason, he would probably be dead.

That was the nagging thought that had kept him up most of the night. The only reason Ian was alive was sheer luck. If Mickey had arrived two minutes later, would he have gotten the redhead out alive? Would Mason have already been long gone, leaving him with just a lifeless body to deal with? He wrapped his other arm around Ian's back, for his own comfort more than anyone's, and held him closer. He couldn't let him go, especially not now, despite his own fears. It wasn't like he was planning on tossing Ian to the curb, even if neither of them were in danger, but the fact that he didn't have an option to both exciting and terrified him. 

He was giving Ian so many opportunities to completely break his heart. If he really wanted to, Ian could turn Mickey into more a broken, defensive, and angry man than he already was- which, all in all, was saying something. But, truthfully, Mickey almost liked that he had the power to do that. Even though it scared him to be honest and open with Ian the way he was, he liked knowing that someone had his trust and complete faith. 

"Are you petting me right now?" Ian's groggy voice asked, and Mickey felt him smile against his bare chest. 

"You bet your ginger ass I am," he responded, and Ian tilted his head back to make eye contact, a small smile ghosting his lips. 

"You okay?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows a little. Mickey shrugged and nodded, knowing Ian could probably see right through him. He shifted a little and propped himself up to kiss a line down Mickey's jaw. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

He scoffed a little, letting his hands fall from Ian's hair. "Not a damn chance, Gallagher," he chuckled. It was imperative that Ian did not know how concerned he was about the whole situation. If he thought Mickey was panicking and stressing every goddamn second of the day about when, how, and by whom Ian would be murdered, he'd freak the fuck out. So for now he'd keep his concerns to himself. 

"Well then can I help you fix it?" he purred in Mickey's ear, trailing his hand down his torso and leaning in to press his lips to Mickey's. 

"Woah, not with that morning breath, Gallagher," he laughed, pushing Ian's face away. 

The redhead gasped in mock offense and batted Mickey's hand away. "Hey, man, your breath doesn't smell so hot either, but here I am, ready to make that sacrifice so you'll blow me again," he said, laughing when Mickey grimaced. 

"Shut the fuck up, bro," he scolded, although he couldn't help but laugh as well. "Let's brush your dank ass teeth, then I'll think about it." Ian smiled and hopped off the bed, looking around the floor. "There's actual clean boxers in the top drawer, carrots," Mickey informed him, jumping off the bed, grabbing a pair from the drawer and smacking Ian on the ass before walking into the bathroom to brush his own teeth. 

By the time Ian came in, he was already spitting his toothpaste foam into the sink and changing into his boxers before sitting on the toilet. When he entered the room, he had a giant, cheeky grin on his face and held it there even while he used Mickey's tooth brush. 

"What the fuck are you all smiley for?" he asked, standing up and taking time to appreciate the sight of Ian in his clothes. He shrugged as Mickey stood behind him and ran his fingers appreciatively up Ian's sides and around to his torso. 

He made eye contact with Mickey in the mirror, still grinning as minty foam slipped past his lips. Mickey's expression turned to a mixture between an endearing grin and a grimace. He was equally fond of and disgusted by Ian. "Nothing, just you," he said around his mouthful of toothbrush before bending over and spitting in the sink, making sure to press his ass into Mickey's groin. 

He grunted in surprise, and waited until Ian was upright again before saying, "Well usually I'm the one bending over Gallagher, but alright." Ian shrugged and turned around, leaning against the sink and tugging Mickey closer. "What did I do to make you all happy?"

Ian's smile never faded as he brushed Mickey's hair back from his head and he replied, "Just... you're getting more comfortable with this. With us." Mickey grew a little flustered and tried to distract himself with Ian's toned chest and ran his fingers over it until the redhead jolted him a little, urging him to make eye contact. When he finally obliged, the way Ian was looking at him caused his stomach to drop a little. "And I'm not trying to freak you out, I promise, it's just nice to see that you're... growing, you know?" Mickey narrowed his eyes a little and tried to suppress the blush he knew was forming on his face. "Are you... _blushing?"_ Ian burst incredulously, and Mickey crossed his arms and stepped away. 

"No."

"Oh my goodness," he said, his voice changing as though he were talking to a fucking puppy. "Is the big bad gangster man embarrassed?" Mickey furrowed his eyebrows, trying to look dangerous. "The murderous mobster is having _feelings_ isn't he?" Ian smirked, tugging Mickey forward by the waistband of his boxers. He stumbled forward into Ian, his arms still crossed. "Are you gonna pout because of this all day?" he asked, tilting his head to the side a little and reaching into Mickey's boxers. 

"As long as you keep talking about it I will," he responded, sucking in a breath as Ian started stroking his dick slowly. He looked up at him to make a snarky comment, but his throat caught a little when they made eye contact. 

Ian shrugged a little, the smirk still evident on his face as he worked his hand over Mickey. "Well I guess you're gonna be pouting for a while then. Because I bet right now you're feeling some butterflies in your stomach, huh?" he whispered, and Mickey tried to push away, but Ian took an iron grip on his bicep, keeping him from leaving. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Mick," he said, leaning forward to lick under Mickey's ear and down his neck.

He moaned a little but tried pushing away a little, albeit weakly. "Shut the fuck up," he mumbled, too distracted with Ian's mouth and hands to put any real bite behind it. 

"Does it make it feel better?" he asked against Mickey's skin, running his lips over it gently. The words sent a burst of nervous energy mixed with a bit of pleasure to his stomach. Ian seemed to interpret it to mean that he should keep going. "Do you like actually letting someone kiss you while they get you off?" For some reason, at that, Mickey couldn't hold back the groan building in his throat, and he felt his eyes practically roll back in his head as Ian pushed him so his back was pressed against the wall. 

"Ian, if I'm gonna last long enough to get my hands on you, you're gonna have to stop that," he warned, arching into Ian's touch involuntarily. 

He laughed a little, kissing up Mickey's neck and to his cheek, not quite getting to his lips. "Well, that's the thing, babe, I kind of just want to get you off right now," he said against the dark haired man's skin. 

Mickey gasped a little at the word babe, his stomach practically exploding with nerves and warmth. "Babe, huh?" he laughed breathily, humming when Ian's hand started moving faster and he swiped his thumb over Mickey's head, slicking him with precum. 

"Oh yeah, and don't think we aren't gonna discuss the fact that you called me babe yesterday," he chuckled, kissing Mickey's cheek again. 

"That's-" he moaned a little "-fine, Gallagher, but are you gonna fucking kiss me or n-" before he could even finish his question, Ian's mouth was on his. The kiss was hot and passionate, and Mickey found himself getting lost in all the sensations to a point that he started meeting Ian's hand with needy thrusts of his hips. Ian pressed a few closed mouth kisses to Mickey's mouth before removing his hands and pulling away. "Okay, Gallagher, you really gonna give me blue balls?" He said, knowing Ian wouldn't leave him hanging. 

He rolled his eyes, pressing himself against Mickey and pinning him against the wall. "How about... you chill the fuck out and trust me?" he asked, looking into the blue eyes of his partner. Mickey swallowed, a little anxious hearing the word 'trust' even if it was just wanted to get laid. "Can you do that?" he followed up, seeing Mickey's hesitation. After a moment he nodded, and Ian kissed him again, this time taking the liberty to prop Mickey's thighs up over his hips and taking on his weight. 

Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian's neck and kissed back, humming at the friction while the redhead started walking back to the bed. He misjudged the distance through the doorway, though, and ended up slamming Mickey's back against it. "What the _fuck,_ Gallagher?" he asked angrily, though laughter started seeping through his tone. "Trust you, huh?" he said, and Ian tried to kiss him through his laughter to distract him, unsuccessful until he dropped Mickey on the bed.

Finally, Mickey's laughter died and he kissed back, shivering a little as Ian ran his fingers up Mickey's thighs gently. Their tongues melded and Mickey arched his back off the bed to press his bare chest against Ian's, running one of his hands into his red locks. 

"Hey, homos, get the fuck out of bed! Pizza's here!" Mandy shouted, banging on the bedroom door and causing both men to jump and part their mouths. 

"What the fuck," Mickey muttered, letting his head fall back onto the pillows. 

Ian leaned in and kissed his neck, "Just ignore her."

Just as he started getting back in the mood, she slammed on the door again, harder this time. _"Get the fuck up, you fucking twinks!"_ she screamed. 

"God _dammit,"_ Mickey growled, pushing Ian off of him, his erection already dying at the shrill sound of his sister's voice. 

Ian rolled his eyes and sat up at the edge of the bed, rubbing his face a bit. 

"Put your dicks away, I'm coming in!" she barked, and the door flew open. Mickey looked at her from where he was still laying on his back, and Ian looked up from his seat at the mattress. "Woah," she said, stopping short. "You two okay?"

"We were in the middle of something, bitch," Mickey said, scooting off the bed and urging Ian to stand up with him. 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Are you two ever not fucking around? _Ever?"_

"'Are you two ever not fucking around?'" Mickey mocked in a shrill voice and Ian laughed, following him to the kitchen. 

"You're relentless," she sighed, closing Mickey's door behind them. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom, but the pizza is on the counter. I come out and see you two dry humping on the table and I will kick some serious fucking ass, got it?"

They both waved her off and she rolled her eyes and stomped away. Mickey grabbed the box and flopped down on a chair, looking over when Ian sat across from him. Without hesitation, he took a huge bite of pizza, the cheese stringing between his mouth and the food and a bit of scalding sauce hitting him in the chin. 

"Son of a bitch that's hot!" he hissed around the slice, trying to stretch the cheese so it would break. 

Ian laughed, reaching across the table to hold Mickey's hand. "I want to take you out," he said, resting his chin in his hand to watch Mickey. 

After finally getting himself cleaned up, he put the pizza down and looked up at Ian. "I'm usually the one who says that," he replied. "Probably not in the same context," he added and Ian pinched his wrist. 

"Shut up," he laughed, looking back up at a smiling Mickey. "I mean I _actually_ wanna take you out. Like on a date! And like... I wanna make a night of it, you know? We could even go to, like... a hotel or something!"

Mickey raised an eyebrow, "A hotel? Aren't you being a little presumptuous, Gallagher?" 

Ian laughed, reaching for a slice of pizza and examining it before responding. "Just thought we could have a good time, you know?"

Mickey shrugged a bit. _Ian_ wanted to take _Mickey_ out on a _date_ then to a _hotel_ where they would undoubtedly have _sex?_ He'd never been on a date before, especially not a date followed by sex at a hotel. "I mean... yeah, why not?" he said finally, looking up at the ginger. "I've never gone on a date before."

Ian's face went through a series of emotions including disbelief, humor, and more surprise, until finally settled on mirth. "You mean... I'm gonna be your first?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, trying to pull his hand from Ian's, who only tightened his grip as he bit into his pizza. "Fucking Christ," he laughed. "You're far from my first, kid."

"I can't believe I'm taking your date virginity," he said with a look of wonder in his eyes, as though Mickey hadn't even spoken. "I'm gonna blow your fucking mind," he assured with a wink. 

"Can you stop?" he asked as Ian started leaning over the table to kiss him. 

"I'm gonna rock your fucking world," he whispered, nodding. Mickey rolled his eyes and tugged Ian by the back of the neck to kiss him through his smile. The fucking smile that he found hard to wipe from his face whenever he was around Ian. 

"What did I tell you two horny fuckers?" Mandy burst, breaking the two apart. Mickey glared at her but returned to his seat. 

"You're a bitch," he said, biting into his abandoned slice of pizza. 

"Eat my ass," she scoffed, grabbing a garlic knot from the box. 

"'Eat my ass,'" he mocked, taking another bite. 

They ate in silence after that, finishing the pizza in less than twenty minutes. "Holy shit, we're fat asses," Ian sighed, leaning back and watching while the Milkovich's attacked the bread sticks and garlic knots. 

"Give me the marina sauce, you cunt!" Mickey commanded and Mandy simply smacked him. 

"Motherfucking- stop!" she yelled as he started wresting her for it. "Mickey, I want the marinara sauce, don't fucki-" she cut herself off with a gasp as the small cup of sauce dumped all over her white shirt. "You _fucking jackass!"_

Mickey smacked her on the shoulder, "That's my fucking shirt!" 

Her jaw dropped a little and she looked down before bursting out laughing. "Oh my god, you're right!" After a moment she shrugged and picked up a bread stick. "Welp, sucks to be you," she laughed, stretching the shirt a bit and using the food to wipe the sauce off the fabric before popping it in her mouth. 

"You're a cunt."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so this chapter is hella short but i do have a reason!  
> i like the ends of my chapters to have a little bit of closure, and i like for them to be relatively the same length. if i were to get into another little plot, it would've been excessively long (which i'm sure you wouldn't have minded, but still) so i'll update soon, and the plot will actually advance.   
> love you all very much! please keep commenting, you make me wanna keep writing   
> (plus the more you comment, the faster i'll update) <3


	18. Chapter 18

The evening came around quickly, and by 5:30pm, Ian was pounding on Mickey's door while he was changing into something nice for their date. As Ian had insisted he do. 

Feeling a little uncomfortable and silly in all honesty, Mickey did what made him feel best and wore black dress pants, a silky black button up and a dark grey tie- to add a pop of color. He'd slid into a black pair of shoes as well just as the ginger started banging on the damn door. 

"Come the fuck in, dude," he said loudly, shaking his head. The door opened immediately just as he stood up and upon seeing Ian, he felt his eyes widen. The redhead was wearing simply a white button down, a black tie and black dress pants. But that was really all he needed, because that alone had Mickey's mouth fucking watering. "Damn, Gallagher, you clean up nice," he said, looking him up and down appreciatively. Ian didn't say anything, simply staring at Mickey with his damn mouth hanging open like a fucking fish. "Come on, man, nothing you haven't seen before," he shrugged, smacking Ian on the chest and skirting past him to reach into his bedside table and grab his trusted Glock, tossing it on the bed haphazardly. After, he dug through the drawer a bit more in search of bullets to make sure it was fully loaded in case they had any unwelcome surprises tonight. 

"Yeah, but never in all black," he replied, his voice sounding strained. He kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, and Mickey rolled his eyes, simply continuing his search for bullets. Realizing he wasn't going to find any in the drawer, he made his way to the closet, where Ian followed and stood behind him, placing his hands on Mickey's hips and kissing his neck. Mickey ignored him, more concerned with finding the fucking bullets to keep Ian safe than he was with his mouth at that moment. He reached up and shuffled through the boxes on the top shelf until he finally found what he was looking for and sighed in relief, yelping a little when Ian bit down harshly on his neck. 

"What the fuck, Gallagher!?" he burst, reaching up to rub where Ian had fucking vampired on his throat. 

He tugged Mickey's hips back into his harshly, holding him in place when he tried to walk away. "Pay attention to me," he whined, and Mickey rolled his eyes, wiggling from the ginger's grip. 

He returned to the bed, picking up the gun and removing the magazine to load it. "I'll pay attention to you when I'm ready, how's that sound?" he said with finality and he could practically feel Ian pouting as he flopped into the desk chair and watched Mickey. 

"Why are you being such a dick?" he whined again, and Mickey ran a hand through his hair, making sure the magazine was full as he clicked it back into place and checked to ensure the safety was on.

He scoffed, shuffling through the pile of clothes from the night before still on his floor until he found his leather jacket. "Gallagher, I'm trying to make sure I keep your ass from dying, tonight, okay? Speaking of which, we better be going far _far_ away from Chicago on this... date, got it?" he said, sounding like a fucking father while he stuffed the gun into the inner pocket of his jacket before shrugging into it and finally looking to where Ian was sprawled across the chair with his eyes narrowed. 

"Yes, master," he snapped, and Mickey couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and smirk. Ian scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Oh, shut the fuck up!" he burst, standing up and stomping to the door. 

"Come on now, carrot top, don't get all pissy," Mickey said, still smiling as he reached out and grabbed Ian's arm. He tugged him backwards so he'd turn around and face Mickey. "I just wanna make sure we can have a good time and not be bothered by... work," he said, picking his words carefully. 

Ian nodded in understanding, reaching up and adjusting Mickey's tie as he ran his fingers up and down Ian's arms. "Fine," he sighed heavily. "I just wish it were easier to take you on a motherfucking date," he grumbled, trying to push Mickey away unsuccessfully. 

Mickey felt a pang of guilt in his chest, but he didn't apologize. He knew it was hard for Ian, but it was even harder for him- he had to deal with the constant fear for Ian's life, especially leaving the house. When they were in the house, at least Mickey would have the upper hand in every situation; outside, though, he was far more vulnerable. 

"It just shows you're willing to put in effort, Gallagher," he smirked, trying to turn the conversation around as he continued to hold Ian against himself. 

Ian rolled his eyes, fisting the fabric over Mickey's chest for a moment before looking up to make eye contact. Mickey raised an eyebrow playfully and Ian sighed before grabbing his tie and pulling him in for a kiss. Mickey smiled against Ian's mouth in victory before he parted his lips, ready for their innocent kiss to turn into something a little more passionate. 

"Save it for tonight, Milkovich," Ian said as he pulled away slowly. Mickey could tell that if he tried a little harder to get Ian to make out with him, there'd be little to no resistance, but he figured the kid had a plan, and he was willing to follow it if it made him happy. 

"Alright, let's get this show on the damn road then, huh?" Mickey replied, shoving Ian away gently.

"Let's," he agreed, practically  skipping out of the room and towards the door. Mickey rolled his eyes and followed far less enthusiastically. 

He was fucking nervous. He didn't know how dates fucking worked. He'd seen movies, sure, so he had the basic idea- but never a _gay_ date. Is it any different? Was he supposed to be doing something special or something? Ian had to know that he didn't know what the fuck he was doing, but that didn't mean he wanted to disappoint the ginger. 

"Aw, look at you gay little fuckers!" Mandy squealed upon seeing the boys. Mickey rolled his eyes and crossed his arms before looking at her. She had her phone up and was recording them on their way to the door. 

"Really, Mandy?" he asked, giving her a deadly look. She simply stuck her tongue out. 

"Come on, do something cute! I want to remember this moment!" she said, waving her hands wildly to get the two to pose. 

Ian started to comply, but Mickey kept an arm out to keep him away. "This isn't the fucking prom, Mandy," he fought, struggling to keep Ian away from him now that he was catching on to how averse Mickey was to taking a picture. 

"Why won't you take a picture with me?" he whined, trying to pin Mickey's hands behind his back.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Gallagher," he warned, shaking his head. "I won't hesitate to pistol whip you, man," he threatened and Ian laughed, finally getting a hold on his wrists and wrenching them behind Mickey's back so their chests were flush. 

"Gotcha," Ian smiled, shifting his hands so their fingers were wound together, but still keeping a stern grip so he couldn't wiggle away. 

"I hate you," Mickey mumbled, and Ian leaned forward to kiss the pout off of his lips. For a moment, he was lost in how utterly domestic the whole situation was and kissed back, no longer trying to fight Ian, but letting himself be held.

Finally, though, he was broken from his bubble as Mandy squealed. "Yes, that was _perfect!_ Well, done, Ian," she sighed, looking at her phone intently. Ian let him go, letting Mickey's glare roll off of him easily. He raced over to Mandy, looking over her shoulder at the picture, and his face broke out into a huge smile. 

"Aw, Mick, come look at this, it's actually a really nice picture," Ian pleaded, waving Mickey over without looking away from the screen. 

He crossed his arms, refusing to give in despite the fact that he actually did want to see the stupid picture. "Don't fucking post that anywhere, Mandy," he demanded and she scoffed, looking up at him. 

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

"What the fuck kind of a question is that? Of course I think your a damn id-"

"Alright, let's get going, Mick," Ian interrupted, walking forward to grab Mickey's sleeve and wrench him towards the door. 

He grabbed the keys from the hook, keeping a good hold on Mickey. "Have him home by midnight!" she called as they skirted out the door. 

"We're staying the night at a hotel," Mickey corrected, peeking his head through the door. 

"Yeah, I know, I just wanted to say it, though," she offered, smiling shyly. "Have a good time, Mick," she said, sounding heartbreakingly genuine. He didn't know what to say in response to the sweet, honest look on her face, so he just nodded. 

Ian yanked him closer to shut the door and tug him down the hallway. "Come on, Mickey, we have reservations, you know," he sighed exasperatedly. 

"I did _not_ know that, actually," he corrected, although he didn't fight Ian as he linked their fingers and pulled him down the stairs to the parking structure. "So we're going out to dinner?" he asked for clarification. "What time are the reservations at?" 

Ian didn't answer right away, waiting until they were at the Mustang. "Yep, reservations are at 8 because the restaurant isn't in Chicago, as requested," he said, shooting Mickey a look. 

"Alright, give me my keys," he said, sniffing and holding his hand out to Ian.

Without replying, Ian unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat, buckling up. When Mickey gave him a look, he patted the passenger's seat and beckoned the dark haired man into the car. "Come on, we're gonna be late if we don't get the fuck going!" he barked, and Mickey took a deep breath before getting into the car. 

"If you so much as make her wheels squeak I'll hand you over to Rossi without a second thought, do you understand me?" he said quietly, looking at Ian intently. 

He snorted and pulled out of the parking spot a little recklessly, looking over at Mickey and saying, "Yeah right," before racing out of the structure. 

***

"Holy fucking shit, are we almost there?" Mickey groaned. Ian had practically forced him to keep his mouth shut for the hour and a half they'd been driving, and he was getting tired of sitting pretty. 

He breathed in deeply through his nose. "Do you want me to turn around right now? I'll fucking do it!" 

"Okay, _dad,_ go ahead, turn around! Just waste my fucking gas!" he barked back, crossing his arms. 

Ian hissed something unintelligible under his breath. "We're almost there, alright? The restaurant is in Milwaukee," he said calmly, and Mickey sighed deeply.

"Okay," he replied, equally as calmly. "Can we at least turn on music so we aren't sitting in boring fucking silence the whole time?"

Ian rolled his eyes. "There's a reason we're sitting in silence, okay? I'm trying to build suspense. And if you're so fucking bored, you could always give me road head on the way."

Mickey scoffed, "You're such a horny fuck, holy shit." He looked out the window at the dark sky before realizing the hair on his neck was standing up. He turned back to Ian, who was smirking at him instead of looking at the road. "You watch where the fuck you're going when you drive my car," he ordered. He had to admit it was tempting to get his mouth on Ian again- he'd wanted to since last night. It hadn't been like any other experience he'd had before- doing something solely to pleasure another person. "Keep it in your pants til we get to the hotel, Gallagher."

Ian shrugged, but obliged, turning back to the road. He flicked the blinker on, and Mickey realized he was finally taking an exit somewhere. He shifted anxiously in his seat, taking in the beautiful skyline of downtown Milwaukee. "Is this far enough away from Chicago for you? We won't be running into anyone dangerous, will we?"

"Depends on where we go for dinner," he replied with a shrug, looking at Ian expectantly for an answer. 

He breathed in deeply. "Alright, fine, fine. We're going to a restaurant called... Balistreri's?? I think that's what it's called. It's supposed to be really nice and-"

"Are you fucking kidding me, Gallagher?" he burst, unable to keep himself from breaking out into a fit of laughter. 

"What? Why is that funny?"

"Did you look up Balistreri? Just the name, nothing else," he asked through his tears of laughter as they turned onto a downtown street. "Pull over and look it up," he said, wiping his eyes. Ian obliged, putting the car in park and pulling out his phone. 

His eyes scanned the screen for a minute before his jaw dropped. "The Milwaukee _crime family!?_ Are you fucking kidding me!?"

Mickey started laughing all over again. "The first place you take me to get away from the Outfit is the- the restaurant that the Milwaukee mafia owns!?" 

"Well, where the fuck are we supposed to go now?" he asked, obviously not as amused by the irony of the situation as Mickey was. 

"Oh, come on," he said, still giggling a little as he placed his hand on Ian's thigh. "We can just cancel the reservation and go somewhere less conspicuous, how about that?" Ian looked over, obviously distraught. "Really, it's not that big of deal," he assured, raising his hand to cup the ginger's cheek. 

"I'm an idiot."

He fought back his laughter and corrected Ian. "You're not an idiot, how would you have known better?"

"Well apparently if I just would've looked up the name, I would've known they ran the fucking mob in Wisconsin!" Ian groaned, letting his head fall onto the wheel. It beeped once and he just groaned again in response, causing Mickey to laugh again. 

"I'm so sorry," he said through his laughter, feeling bad for making fun of something that really upset Ian. "We can easily go somewhere else! Somewhere better," he assured. 

They ended up going through the drive thru of a McDonald's and headed to their hotel early. 

"The Pfister, huh?" Mickey asked. The Pfister hotel was one of the most pristine and luxury hotels in Milwaukee. It was labeled as a historic landmark and had five star reviews. "You really wanna take fast food into a luxury hotel?"

"Better than going to a mafia run restaurant," Ian muttered. 

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Alright you fucking grump, let's go inside."

He got out of the car and rounded it to open Ian's door for him. He didn't get out right away though, simply sitting with the door open and Mickey standing over him. "I don't wanna."

"I'll blow you if we go inside," he offered, and as though he'd flipped a switch, Ian shot out of the car, taking Mickey's hand in his own. Mickey laughed at the audacity of this kid. After that, he was practically dragged into the hotel, the McDonald's bag still in his hand. 

"Hi, we'd like to check in, under the name Gallagher," he requested, and Mickey was still chuckling, trying to stifle the noises while the woman behind the desk requested to see his ID and Visa, and finally handed over the room key. They raced into the elevator, and Mickey prayed it was empty so he could get his hands on the ginger. 

As though God had bestowed himself upon the hotel himself, his wish was granted and the elevator was completely vacant. Barely waiting for the doors to close, Mickey punched the number 6, dropped the food in his hand and slammed Ian against the wall roughly, taking his mouth hard. He didn't know why the offer to go down on Ian got him just as, if not more, excited than the ginger, but he wasn't complaining, especially not when Ian moaned and rolled his tongue out into Mickey's mouth. He kissed back fervently and rounded his hands to Ian's ass, squeezing as the elevator jolted to a stop. Mickey waited until the exact moment he heard the ding, followed by the doors opening to turn away from Ian and stand next to him nonchalantly. 

"Well, well, well," a familiar voice said, and Mickey felt himself shrink. "What in the world do we have here?" 

He looked up to see the fucking devil herself- Svetlana. Mickey had gotten involved with the evil witch when he was just a teenager- she was the one who had showed him the world of underground trade and organized crime. She ran a whorehouse in downtown Chicago, and Mickey had been the manager of it for a while. 

"Svetlana," he said simply, not bothering to engage in conversation with her. He had to admit, though, even though she wasn't at the top of the list of people he'd wanted to see, she was a far better option than Rossi or Damion. 

"How are you doing, Mikhailo?" she smirked, stepping close to him and brushing his hair back from his face, which running her other hand up his chest. 

Unfazed, he shrugged, "I'm going just fine. What's a low grade whore like you doing in a fine establishment like this?"

She chuckled a little, hooking her leg around the back of Mickey's and replying, "I am call girl here. Man on floor 3 paid and now I go to man on floor 7. I could ask same question for you."

Mickey still made no move to get her off of him, perfectly used to dealing with Svetlana and her ways by then, and if anything, finding comfort in it. Some things really never change. "Well, no thanks to you, I made something of myself. I can afford to stay in this hotel _without_ needing to fuck someone to do so," he said, and laughed inwardly at the irony. The only reason he was at the hotel was to fuck Ian, but come on, it was totally different context. 

She laughed and ran her fingers through his hair again, leaning into his ear and whispering, "Then who is the tall red boy?" before beginning to kiss his neck. 

"Okay, yeah, that's enough," Ian finally spoke up, gently removing Svetlana from Mickey. He had to shake himself a bit to regain his wits, as most people did after they spoke to her. She had a weird way about her that made you lean in to her words, and she was a grade A manipulator when she needed to be. "Who are you again?"

"Ah, so the red boy has some bite, does he?" she laughed placing a hand down Ian's chest now. "I am Svetlana," she purred, letting her hand travel across the expanse of Ian's torso. "Mikhailo was my pet before he became big business man," she laughed, biting her lip. The elevator dinged. 

"Well, this is our stop. Nice to see you, Svetlana," Mickey said, grabbing Ian's hand and tugging him out of the elevator. 

"Call me, Mickey, we get coffee!" she said, pulling a business card from her tit and handing it to Mickey just before the doors closed. 

Mickey pocketed the card and ran a hand over his face. 

"Okay, who the _fuck_ was that!?" Ian burst, loosening his tie. "Why was she all over you? And then... me? Who the fuck?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, "That, Ian, was the devil incarnate. Sort of- she's not a great person, but she does what she needs to do."

"Are you gonna call her?" Ian asked as they approached room number 612. 

Mickey shrugged, watching Ian's hands as they unlocked the door. "Maybe. Why? Does that bother you?" he smirked, grabbing onto Ian's tie. 

He pushed Mickey into the room and against the back of the door, slamming it shut behind him, the smile only growing on his face. "I don't know, should it?" he asked, pinning Mickey's hands above his head. 

"I seem pretty gay to you, right?" he asked, arching against Ian and humming when he kissed him deeply. 

"Gay enough to suck another guy's dick?" he asked with a grin, barely pulling away from Mickey's mouth.

He snorted a little in the midst of his laughter, but shrugged. "Let's find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm late as a biiitch i know and i suck, but i haven't been home all week, so i haven't had access to a computer.   
> also  
> i won't have access to one all week this week either  
> i'm soooo sorry  
> i'll try to update on my phone? but i don't think that'll work out well bc my phone has been bugging out recently  
> still i love you all very much!  
> please keep commenting and i'll update the second i get home! with 2 chapters! maybe even three ;)  
> but i'm only promising 2  
> just comment pls <3  
> love ya!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warninnnggg  
> just so you guys know, literally this ENTIRE chapter is smut.   
> like literally the entire thing. all 2525 words  
> i'll update another chapter very very soon, i swear to you all!   
> i figure you deserve this after going so long without an update lol  
> please enjoy and be sure to comment!  
> also i didn't edit this because it's like 2am and i'm tired okay so don't mind the mistakes  
> okay love you!!!

Almost immediately, Ian had Mickey pressed against the door, his hands pinned above his head and his mouth completely at Ian's control. He parted his lips and allowed himself to be kissed hard and thoroughly by the ginger, arching his back from the door. Apparently, that didn't go over too well with Ian, because he took a step back, still kissing Mickey, but not letting their chests touch. 

"What's your deal, man?" Mickey asked when Ian finally just pulled away altogether. He locked the door behind Mickey and pulled him forward by his tie. He took a moment to admire the room; he had expected it to be similar to the outside architecture, but it was modern in the fact that the platform the king sized bed was on was silver, across the room from a huge balcony overlooking the Milwaukee skyline. 

He was jerked from his distraction by a hard tug to his neck as Ian yanked him forward by his tie. The ginger had taken the liberty of already sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs parted for Mickey to stand between them. Mickey couldn't help but grin looking down at Ian, something he wanted to punch himself for. What kind of gay motherfucker smiled seeing the person they were about to have sex with?

"Why are you all smiley?" Ian asked, a smile ghosting his lips now too as he ran Mickey's tie through his fingers. 

Mickey shook his head, lifting his hands to cup the redhead's jaw. "It's really gay," he replied simply, stroking Ian's cheek with his thumb and studying his green eyes. 

"That's how I like it," he said in response, causing both of them to laugh. "Just tell me."

He hissed out a breath, leaning his forehead against Ian's. "I'm just really lucky to be here with you right now," he finally admitted his thoughts, and Ian yanked the fabric down so Mickey would kiss him, to which he happily obliged. 

He started pressing forward, leaning one hand on the bed behind Ian to support the slow pace they seemed to be adopting. He found himself glad that their night was at least starting this slow, it gave him time to actually show Ian that he truthfully felt lucky to be there with him. He opened his mouth and massaged Ian's tongue with his, shifting to straddle the ginger. 

Ian's fingers worked at Mickey's tie to loosen it and pulled away momentarily, working it over his head. Mickey did the same, tossing Ian's tie across the dark room, never breaking eye contact. They hadn't turned the lights on when they'd gotten in the room, so the only source of illumination was the moonlight glaring in from the windows along with the shine of Milwaukee night life. 

He started unbuttoning Ian's shirt, leaning down to press soft kisses to his mouth. It was Mickey's first time actually aching to be sweet with someone before bed, and it made his eyebrows furrow with overwhelming emotion. Ian worked at his shirt as well, responding to the pace perfectly, tracing Mickey's lips with his tongue gracefully before exploring his mouth gently. 

They stripped themselves of the rest of their clothing quickly, running their fingers over one another's bare skin and kissing tenderly. Ian moved up the bed so he was leaning against the plethora of pillows, and Mickey didn't leave any space between them, simply following the movements so he was straddling Ian again. With the skin to skin contact now, though, he found it hard to remain so gentle and slow, and with the way Ian's fingers were digging into his thighs as hard as they were, he figured the ginger was trying to hold back, too. 

Mickey decided to give them both what they wanted and ran his fingers into Ian's hair before fisting it tightly and yanking back, emitting a groan from the redhead. He started kissing harder and bit at Ian's lips before grinding downwards and slotting their shafts together in delicious friction. Ian rounded his hands to Mickey's back, kissing back just as fiercely, if not more. Ready to honor his promise, Mickey shifted to kiss Ian's neck and down his chest, letting his hands travel over the expanse of his chest and pinching his right nipple before licking his lips and looking up at Ian smugly. 

The ginger was panting heavily, eyelids heavy as he watched Mickey take his cock into his mouth. Immediately, his hands were in Mickey's hair and his head was back against the pillows. Mickey licked up his shaft, sucking at his head instinctively. Ian moaned low in his throat, causing Mickey to start taking more of him into his mouth, swallowing around him. The noises Ian was making made Mickey's erection almost painful, but he savored them and made sure to remember every groan was etched into his mind. He took the bottom part of Ian's shaft into his hand and started bobbing his head, curling his tongue a little, causing Ian's hips to jerk upwards a bit. 

"Fucking _Christ,_ baby," he groaned, fingers tightening in Mickey's hair. At the pet name 'baby', Mickey shuddered, almost growling around Ian, whose back arched at the noise. "I'm gonna fucking come if you-" he gasped as Mickey swallowed again "-if you do that again."

Mickey pulled off slowly, looking up at Ian and meeting his eyes once he was sitting up again. "Well, we don't want that yet, now do we?" he asked, running his fingers through his hair. He got up from the bed, ignoring Ian's sound of disapproval and digging through his pockets for the box of condoms and a small container of lube. 

"You're pretty well prepared, then?" Ian laughed a little, following Mickey's movements carefully as he placed the objects on the bedside table. He shrugged in response, getting back onto the bed and tugging Ian forward by the back of the neck, drowning in the overwhelming urge to kiss him. Ian's hand reached up and gripped Mickey's wrist, and he rubbed his thumb over the sensitive skin. 

Suddenly, he reached around to Mickey's ass and turned him roughly onto his back, falling between his legs, and barely letting their mouths part for a moment. Mickey groaned in response, feeling the urge to fucking devour Ian. The ginger's left hand reached between them and wrapped around Mickey's throbbing erection, using his precum to slick his shaft and pump over it slowly. 

Ian pulled away from Mickey's mouth momentarily, and then his middle and index finger were being sucked into his mouth. The sight had the darker haired man salivating and not even wanting to blink as he watched, despite the fact that his eyes were practically rolling back in his head at the feel of Ian's hand around him. When he removed his fingers from his mouth, it was almost immediately back on Mickey's, who made a loud, unholy noise and shoved his tongue into Ian's mouth. 

He felt the very two fingers he'd been drooling over barely two seconds later at his entrance in a silent question from Ian. If that kid thought Mickey had any aversion to being fingered by him, he was crazy. Even so, he moaned in reply and kissed back harder, biting down hard on Ian's lower lip when his fingers slid into him smoothly. He was barely conscious enough to wind his fingers into Ian's hair, feeling so much bliss and pleasure at once that he was a puddle in Ian's hands. As Ian began pushing his fingers in and out in unison with the speed his other hand was moving around Mickey's cock, he felt himself unable to form a single coherent thought. 

Suddenly, Ian's fingers hit his prostate, and he was unable to even continue kissing the ginger at all, his head simply falling back onto the pillows and his chest rising and falling rapidly. This didn't set Ian off in the slightest, as he simply moved his mouth to Mickey's neck and began sucking and biting immediately. His hand shifted around Mickey's shaft, and he felt a new sensation, confused with it until he realized that Ian was now pumping his hand over both of them at once while still plunging his fingers into Mickey expertly. This time, his eyes actually did roll back and he groaned loudly, feeling his pulse beating under Ian's tongue. 

"Ian- babe- I'm gonna fucking c-"

He understood and slowed to a stop, pulling away enough to reach to the bedside table. Ian looked just as blissed out as Mickey felt, but he was definitely way more in control of himself than Mick was as he tore open a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled it onto himself, his breaths fast and heavy as he leaned over Mickey, who'd taken the liberty of grabbing the lube. He squirted a nice amount into his hand and slicked Ian's shaft in it, watching with pleasure as Ian's eyelids fluttered shut and he gripped Mickey's biceps for support. Once he was sure Ian was lubed up, he wiped his hand on the blanket, feeling no remorse. 

Ian's eyes opened, just as Mickey started turning onto his stomach. He stopped short when Ian grabbed his arm again. "Hey, wait, wait, wait," he said, shaking his head. He reached behind Mickey and grabbed a pillow. "I wanna fucking look at you," Ian said, his voice sounding husky. Mickey's breath caught, and he found it physically hard to breathe; he'd never had someone fuck him when he was on his back, where they could actually see him. He urged Mickey's hips up and pushed the pillow under them, leaning forward to kiss Mickey. He almost couldn't kiss back, too overcome with emotion and need to even remember how. Ian propped his weight up by resting his elbow next to Mickey's head, still kissing him with more energy than he could respond with.

Not put off in the slightest, Ian guided himself to Mickey's entrance, resting there for a moment until his free hand was back on Mickey's own shaft. He pulled back from Mickey's mouth to look at him, then he gave them what they'd both wanted for weeks, and pushed slowly into the dark haired man. His eyes shut slowly as his eyes rolled back in his head and his lips parted in a gasp. 

Ian filled him perfectly, and when he was able to look up at the ginger, he knew he could have come then and there. Ian's eyebrows were furrowed deeply and his mouth was just barely open, a strangled moan escaping him, the breath from it ghosting Mickeys lips. Completely understanding the fact that Ian seemed to just be savoring the moment before making any movement, he ran his fingers over his chest and lifted himself just barely from the bed to kiss Ian's pale, bruised neck. 

Finally, he pulled back a bit, moving his hand in sync and Mickey breathed out onto Ian's throat involuntarily in the form of a strangled groan. He started a slow, beautiful burning rhythm of thrusts of his hips, tilting them at the perfect angle and hitting Mickey's prostate almost immediately. 

"Holy- fuck," he whimpered, reaching up with his right hand to where Ian's arm was holding him upright and running his fingers up to grip Ian's hand and thread their fingers together. He was surprised he'd been the one to initiate such an intimate gesture, but with the intimacy of the whole night, he couldn't help himself. 

Ian gripped his fingers tightly, his thrusts growing a little faster. Mickey doubted he was going to last very long with the way the ginger was hitting his prostate and jerking him off so fluidly and effortlessly the way he was. Pleasure was bursting behind his eyelids, and he started shifting his hips in time with Ian's thrusts. 

"You feel so fucking good, baby," Ian panted next to Mickey's head, and he groaned in response, just the sound of Ian's low voice enough to push him over the edge, not to mention the fact that he kept calling him 'baby'. 

He threaded his fingers throat Ian's hair, gasping and moaning when he gave a particularly hard thrust into Mickey's prostate. "Kiss me," he practically begged, almost startling himself. Ian didn't even wait a moment before covering Mickey's mouth with his own and parting his lips. 

Somehow he managed to give the kisses the exact same pace his hips and hand were taking on, as though he had the ability to multitask with every goddamn part of his body simply to pleasure Mickey. He whimpered and moaned against Ian's hot, gorgeous fucking mouth and felt that he was nearing his climax. Almost simultaneously, Ian squeezed his hand, and he took it to mean the same thing. 

He pulled away from Mickey's mouth and rested his forehead against his, locking their eyes. They panted into one another's mouths, barely able to keep their eyes open as Ian suddenly lost all sense of rhythm and began pounding into Mickey senselessly. He pulled at Ian's hair sharply and his eyelids fell shut as he came into the ginger's hand, cursing loudly. Ian came barely ten seconds later, tightening his grip on Mickey's hand and leaning forward to kiss him hotly. 

After settling a little, he pulled out of Mickey and collapsed onto the bed right beside him, sliding his hand out of Mickey's hold on it. They attempted to catch their breath together, and Ian pulled the condom off, tying it into a knot and tossing it into the garbage on the other side of the bed before falling back onto the covers again. 

"Holy fucking shit," Mickey panted, running his fingers through his hair, still too sated and blissed out to form a sentence. 

Ian's hand fell to his forehead. "Yeah," he agreed simply, still breathing heavily. "That was... fucking amazing," he concluded and Mickey laughed, turning his head to look at Ian.

"That's one way to put it," he conceded, humming a little when Ian leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to his mouth. 

"Let's get under the covers," he said quietly, and Mickey agreed with a nod. If there was one thing other than satisfied that Mickey was after that, it was fucking tired. He didn't know how one person could make him feel so many different, incredible fucking things, but he wasn't exactly going to question it. So he simply got under the sheets when Ian pulled them back and let himself be pulled closer by the ginger, trying not to show how much he liked being held, and obviously failing. He let his hand rest over the back of Ian's, and laced his fingers through his, if anything, tightening the redhead's hold on him. 

Ian pressed a light kiss to the back of Mickey's neck, sending a chill down his back. He cuddled closer to Ian, giving up on all attempts to seem anything but thrilled to be pressed against the ginger. 

"Night, Gallagher," Mickey sighed contentedly. 

Ian nuzzled into Mickey's neck, kissing one more time between his shoulder and throat. "Goodnight, baby." 


	20. Chapter 20

Mickey woke up to an obscenely loud ringing noise and he groaned, unwilling locate the source. To his surprise, he felt a body beneath him and realized that he was on top of Ian's chest, his face buried in the ginger's neck. Ian had an arm over Mickey's back and his fingers wound in his hair, while his other hand was gripping Mickey's on the bed next to his head. He chewed his lip a little, unsure of how he'd ended up practically suffocating Ian when it was usually the other way around. 

At that moment, however, he had far more pressing matters to deal with, like the _fucking_ ringing noise! He detached himself quickly but carefully from Ian, pausing to kiss his forehead and cursing his gay self afterwards, before making his way to their forgotten clothes. Since the room was still dark, he misjudged the distance between his knee and the corner of the bed and smacked it sharply. Of course, the ringing was coming from Ian's phone as Mickey had made sure to put his on silent so they could enjoy themselves the night before. 

He pulled it out and rolled his eyes upon reading his sister's name. "What, Mandy?" he hissed, glancing over at Ian, who was still sound asleep. He held the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and starting stepping into his clothing. 

"Mickey? Why can you answer Ian's phone but not your own?" she snapped. "You know what, it doesn't matter. How was your night? How was dinner and stuff? All that gay date shit?"

Mickey chuckled a little, slipping into his white undershirt and remembering where they were supposed to have dinner before a realization dawned on him and he gasped. "Oh, _fuck!"_

"What? Was it bad? Obviously not that bad if you're answering his phone, though ri-"

"We left the fucking McDonald's in the elevator!" he whined, reaching his hand up to rub his eyes. 

He could practically see the confusion on his sister's face as she made a little scoff noise. "The... McDonald's?" her hesitant voice finally came through. 

He groaned a bit, sitting on the edge of the bed near Ian's feet. "Yeah, Ian made reservations at the restaurant that the Milwaukee crime family owns," he laughed a little, looking over at the redhead. 

"Oh my god, he didn't," she gasped before bursting out laughing. "What a little goof. I love that kid." Mickey didn't reply, still studying an unconscious Ian. "Don't you agree?"

"With what?" he asked, realizing that he had completely zoned out. "I mean what? Yeah, of course," he quickly corrected himself. Mandy hated it when he didn't pay attention to her. 

She laughed a little, "Yeah, I know you do."

Mickey chewed on his lip, trying hard to even remember what he had agreed with, but shrugged in indifference. "Why did you even call Ian in the first place? It's..." he checked the phone. "Fucking five am, Mandy."

She cleared her throat, "Oh, yeah, I got off work at like 3 and headed to the Shop and Go to grab some food and I heard this guy asking the manager if Ian was working. I obviously stepped in and told him I knew Ian-"

"Mandy what!? You can't go around saying that type of shit to random people, there are dangerous guys that Ian is involved with-"

"Can you just shut the fuck up for one second and let me talk? I asked who he was, and it was Ian's brother. I needed to talk to Ian about it because I may or may not have-"

He took in a loud, deep breath to cut her off and closed his eyes. "Mandy... did you fuck Ian's brother?" he asked calmly. 

"Well, come on, I mean... Isn't sex really just a social concept created to shame women-"

"Mandy, come on! Can't you just not get involved with his family? What about that one weird kid I walked in on you with a few weeks ago? What happened to him?" Mickey groaned, dropping his head in his hands. 

She sighed, "Look, Mickey, I simply invited him up for a cup of coffee and said Ian should be home later today and he was welcome to hang around for a little while! If you _must_ know, Lip is the one who initiated it and I just... didn't refuse."

"What the fuck kinda name is Lip!?"

She made a frustrated noise, "It's short for Phillip!"

"You know what? What the fuck ever, what did he want from Ian?" he asked, resting his hand on Ian's leg absentmindedly. 

She made an indifferent noise before replying, "He just wanted to visit with him, I guess. He didn't know where to look since Ian is a bit of a floater, so it just sort of worked out that I was there when he was- oh! Hello."

"Good morning," a mumbling voice asked from the other line, sounding muffled. 

"Got to go, Mick, have fun!" 

With that Mandy hung up abruptly, and Mickey sighed, tossing Ian's phone onto the bed next to him. He rubbed his eyes, before standing up and looking down at Ian. If he was already awake, he might as well take advantage of the breakfast bar he knew they had in the lobby. He chewed his lip for a moment before making a split decision that disgusted him.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss onto Ian's lips quickly before grabbing a room key from the dresser. He scratched the side of his face and slipped out of the room quietly. Why he felt the need to kiss an unconscious man goodbye was completely beyond him, but he felt better after doing it. 

Unfortunately, when he reached the elevator, Mickey realized someone had definitely taken their McDonald's and he swore loudly. He slammed the button for the main floor and rocked back on his heels while he waited. To his great dismay, the elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and he hoped it was someone just as tired and unwilling to speak as he was. 

As if the universe would be so fucking kind. 

"Good morning, sunshine," a certain Russian woman greeted perkily as she stepped into the box that seemed to start closing in on them. 

Mickey looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath before looking over at her. "Svetlana, why the _fuck_ are you still here? How many horny old fucks are staying here tonight?"

She shrugged a little and smirked. "I see six men last night. Two of them have wife in room with them and she slept while we fucked. How many men did _you_ see last night?" she asked, raising an eyebrow playfully and running a hand down Mickey's arm. 

He looked away before glaring at her. "None of your damn business," he answered, although it was painfully obvious that there was only one man he had even wanted to see. 

"Mikhailo, is that a _blush_ I see?" she perked up, lifting her fingers to touch his cheek. "I have never seen you get so red before!"

He smacked her hand away and crossed her arms, happy to hear the elevator ding when they reached the first floor. "Anyways, it was nice to see you, Svetlana, but I'm gonna get some coffee."

"Oh, well I shall join you, then," she smirked, linking her arm through Mickey's.

He whined lowly and his face scrunched up in pain. "That's really not necessary," he insisted and she laughed, tugging him with her to the assortment of breakfast food. Since it was so ungodly early in the morning, there were only a few old women sitting at the tables, sipping tea and reading. 

"This way we don't have to plan coffee date, we can just catch up here," she nodded once and immediately started filling a mug with coffee. "You go find table, I remember how you take it," she said, winking. Mickey rolled his eyes at the terrible innuendo but complied, taking the second booth in on the right and pulling out his phone. 

Thankfully, he only had a few missed calls from Mandy and what looked like a drunken text from Sam, but other than that he'd made it. After knowing he was in the clear, he dropped his head into his hands and tried to relax before Svetlana came back.

He truthfully didn't know what there was for the two of them to talk about. It had been years since they'd seen one another, sure, and they used to be pretty close, but they hadn't exactly ended on a great note. Then again, he hadn't ended on a terrible note, but he was unsure of how to act. He knew for sure that he'd been the best manager the Rub n Tug had had, and when he'd abandoned the business to start new by himself, she'd let him leave freely, but hadn't been happy about it. 

"I got you muffin, too," she smiled, sliding into seat across from him. She placed a chocolate chip muffin and a cup of coffee in front of him, and had a bagel and a cup of tea for herself. "So, Mikhailo, how have you been? You have boyfriend now, I see."

He rolled his eyes, sipping the coffee. The last thing he was going to admit was that he was seeing Ian. "I've been alright. Gotten involved with a few of the wrong type of people, but haven't we all?" he asked. He was being far more polite than he wanted to, but he'd prefer not to start any drama with Svet in public. 

"This is true. Rub and Tug closed down a little after you left," she told him, taking the tea bag out of her cup and placing it on the plate. "So I start my own small company- escort service," she said, drinking the scalding tea as though it was luke warm. Fucking Russians, man. 

"Isn't that what you were before? Just with a fancier title?" he asked beginning to tear his muffing apart and pop the pieces into his mouth. 

She considered for a moment before shrugging. "Is very close. But I get more respect as escort. Men are afraid of me, let me have control. I like the control much better," she nodded. 

His felt a small weight lift from his chest at this for some reason. Knowing that Svetlana was at least in less danger than she'd been working at the Rub n Tug put some of his guilt at ease. She was his biggest concern when he'd left, just knowing that she was protected and taken care of. She was still a manipulative bitch, but that didn't make him care for her any less. He still wanted to know she was alive and safe. 

Fuck, what was Ian turning him into?

"Well... that makes me happy. Have you thought about doing anything else?" he asked, his mouth full of muffin. She smacked the bottom of his chin, and he rolled his eyes but closed his mouth. She'd always scolded him when he spoke with food in his mouth. 

"I sometimes think of quitting and trying to find husband, but... is too thrilling to be escort. I would not  like to be held down, but I like to be taken care of. You still have not answered boyfriend question," she shrugged. "But I will let it go." 

After that, they sat in a comfortable silence, just soaking in the other's presence. To Mickey, Svetlana had always seemed like an older sister. He had Mandy, and loved her more than anything, but she was someone he'd had the responsibility of looking after. Svetlana, though, she always made sure Mickey was seen after despite the fact that she was in a more dangerous position than him. She seemed to feel some sort of compulsion to make sure he was respectful and loyal, which is why he was so torn when he left the business. He knew she'd be disappointed in him. But he had to; she was controlling. and manipulative, and would never take no for an answer. 

After probably half an hour and two coffee refills, they were still sitting in their booth, watching a few people filter out until they were the only ones left in the dining area. Mickey chewed the inside of his cheek and looked up to see a certain tall, ginger beauty running a hand through his hair and making his way to Mickey, looking determined. 

He felt himself sit up a little straighter involuntarily, and Svetlana seemed to notice, too, because she furrowed her eyebrows then turned around in her seat. The two had nearly opposite reactions to seeing one another, because she turned around with a sly smirk on her face, while Ian's face set hard and he started walking a little faster.

"Well, good morning, Red," she greeted, raising her eyebrows. 

"Morning," he said back, a not so subtle sneer on his face. Mickey scooted over to make room for Ian to slide in, and when he did, he immediately fisted the front of Mickey's shirt and pulled him in for a hard kiss. 

Mickey's eyebrows raised, but his eyes closed as he kissed back. It thankfully didn't turn into anything too heavy, as it would've been a little embarrassing for him to lose control in front of Svetlana- which would undoubtedly happen with Ian. 

Still, he was a little flustered when he pulled away, and he licked his lips and cleared his throat before looking up at Svetlana. She had an amused expression on her face and ran her tongue over her teeth. "Looks like you didn't have to answer boyfriend question, because he can do it for me," she teased, reaching out and placing her hand over Ian's. "I would like to hear more about boy who has my little Mikhailo so whipped," she smiled wide, resting her chin in her palm. 

Ian's demeanor seemed to change then as he realized she wasn't a threat to their relationship. He looked over at Mickey, who rolled his eyes. He wasn't whipped.

"Well what do you want to know?" he finally responded, an adorable smile spreading across his face, too. Mickey groaned a little and dropped his head to the table. Every question she would ask was bound to pay no attention to personal boundaries or whether it would embarrass Mickey or not. 

"How old are you?"

"Twenty two."

"How long do you know Mikhailo?"

"Almost two months."

"How did you get him to kiss you?" she finally blurted. He knew that would come up. 

Ian chuckled a little. "Sorry, what?" he asked. Mickey didn't bother looking up, simply groaning and burying his face further into his arms on the table. 

"Mikhailo has one rule- he does not kiss. He has had rule since he was a boy. It is too... intimate," she explained, and Mickey could practically see the smug expression on her face. She loved making him uncomfortable, and she loved telling people his personal business. 

He hummed a little, placing a hand on Mickey's thigh to ease his discomfort. It didn't really help. "Well, he... didn't exactly... um," Ian struggled to find words. Mickey couldn't really blame him. He hadn't given Ian any reason to believe he wasn't a big kisser- the moment Ian had kissed him his perspective seemed to change. 

Mickey finally raised his head a little warily, running  hand through his hair before realizing they were both staring at him. He froze. "Come on, what do you want me to say?" he sighed. 

Svetlana bit her lip and looked up at Ian. "Like I say, whipped," she repeated. 

"I am not whipped!" he burst, crossing his arms. He looked away from both of them, grumbling under his breath. 

"Do you have any pictures together?" Svetlana asked excitedly, and it was then that Mickey realized how much she did actually care about him. If her interest and investment in him could last through him abandoning her and almost _four years,_ then she was really someone he could depend on. 

"Actually we do!" Ian replied excitedly, pulling out his phone. 

Mickey's eyebrows shot up and he fired back, "Like hell we do."

"Oh shut the fuck up," Ian said distractedly, smacking him in the chest gently. He rolled his eyes and Svetlana smiled fondly. "Only a few, because Mick doesn't like having _memories,"_ he snapped, and selected a photo, turning it for Lana to see before Mickey had a chance. She put a hand to her chest and smiled sweetly.

He scoffed and waited for Ian to show it to him, but he just went right back on swiping through his pictures. "Hey, what the fuck, I wanna see it," he said, tugging on Ian's arm.

Ian tugged his arm away. "I thought you didn't like them!" He fought, holding his arm from Mickey's reach. 

He finally gave up and crossed his arms. "Just because I don't like taking them doesn't mean I don't like looking at them," he muttered. "Let me see the damn photo, dude, fuck."

Ian rolled his eyes, unfazed by Mickey's blunt and aggressive way of speaking. He selected the picture and turned his phone for Mickey to see. The moment he laid eyes on it, he felt his face change. It was the picture Mandy had taken the night before, when he'd been tricked into it. But it didn't look like it was a trick. 

His fingers were intertwined with Ian's, who had his arms wrapped around Mickey's waist, and their hands resting on the small of his back. Both of their eyes were shut, and their lips were sealed together. It was obvious Mickey was leaning into Ian's chest, and the way he had to tilt his head back while Ian dipped his down was nothing if not endearing. Overall Mickey looked utterly, hopelessly...

"Whipped," Svetlana said quietly, and Ian started pulling his phone away and laughing, but Mickey grabbed it. Still smiling, Ian watched curiously as Mickey took the phone and sent the photo to himself before deleting the message to leave no evidence. 

"Shut the fuck up," he shot back casually, handing Ian his phone. He wasn't even going to fight it after seeing that picture. It was obvious that he'd do practically anything to make Ian happy at that point. Basically... he was fucking whipped. 

"Any more?" she asked, resting her chin in her palm again and looking at Ian in that innocent way she did. 

"Well... I have one more, but..." he trailed off, chewing his lower lip. 

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't remember taking any other pictures," he said slowly, unsure of how Ian had obtained this photo. 

"And _we_ didn't take this picture... Mandy did," he explained. "And she knew you wouldn't exactly be thrilled about it, so she just sent it to me."

"Oh," he replied simply. It was believable, but when had Mandy had a chance to pull out her phone and snap a pic when he hadn't been paying attention.

Ian turned the phone around to show Lana, who looked as though she was melting when she laid eyes on it. "Mandy has very good eye," she nodded. "I miss that sweet girl."

Mickey, who didn't even bother asking, just reached out and took the cell phone right from Ian's hand. He tried to protest softly, but let Mickey take it anyways. When he turned the phone his breath caught a bit. 

Mandy must have gone into his room and seen them curled up together and decided to take the picture. And he was actually glad she did. 

Mickey was laying on his back and Ian was right at his side, curled into him with Mick's arm around his back and his fingers resting in Ian's hair, where his face was buried in the crook of Mickey's neck. His other hand was interlocked with Ian's, his angry tattooed fingers blurring between the ginger's pale ones, and their hands were resting right over his heart, their grips both limp and tired, but firm enough to keep them together. They were both shirtless and passed out cold with the blankets pulled up just over their hips, barely enough to see that Ian's leg was thrown around Mickey's waist as well. 

He chewed his lip a moment as he studied it, before sending that one to himself as well. "Whatever," he mumbled, looking away as he passed the phone back. 

Seeing himself with Ian in that way changed his perspective on things. And it made him almost angry. He didn't want to have to hide the way he felt about Ian or the way he kissed him or held him. He wanted to show Ian off; show the world that Ian chose to stay with him and hold him and force him to take couple-y photos together. Of course, that didn't matter and he had no choice but to hide it for their own safety but it didn't make it any less exasperating. 

"We should probably get going," Ian finally said, placing his hand on Mickey's thigh again and squeezing gently. He shrugged in agreement. 

"As should I," Svetlana conceded. "I have to get back home, pay bills."

"It was really good to see you, Lana," Mickey said, adopting the nickname he'd had for her so long ago as they all stood up. She spread her arms, and when he dropped back hesitantly, she pulled him in anyways, winding them around his neck. 

"Just because we got to talk today does not mean you do not call me. Understand?" she said quietly in his ear. 

He finally lifted his arms to hug her back, holding tightly as he nodded. "Stay safe, Lana," he practically begged quietly as she pulled away. She smiled and touched his face lightly. 

"I will," she assured before turning to Ian. "And now you- tall red boy. Come, hug me," she insisted, gesturing him into an embrace. He complied much easier than Mickey, of course taking to Svetlana quickly and warmly welcoming her. Mickey saw her whisper something to him that made them both clutch one another a little tighter, but he didn't ask about it. 

"It was nice to meet you, Svetlana," he said, holding her hands a moment before dropping them. "We'll definitely need to meet up again."

She smiled and blew them a kiss. "I shall see you soon- Mikhailo you better call me!"

He rolled his eyes but nodded, waving as she swaggered out of the hotel. Mickey sighed heavily before turning back to Ian.

He didn't say a word as he grabbed Mickey's hand and pulled him back to the elevator, dropping off their dirty dishes on the way. Once the door closed, he turned to Mickey, reaching out and running his thumbs over his cheeks with a small smile on his face. Mickey's eyebrows furrowed, "What?"

Ian just shook his head and chuckled a little before leaning in and kissing Mickey sweetly. "Let's get back home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my loves! I made this chapter extra long- sorry no smut this time!  
> please please comment it gives me OVERWHELMING JOY to read your thoughts! and it makes me want to update for you   
> love ya! hope you enjoyed this <3


	21. Chapter 21

Thankfully, Mickey and Ian hadn't brought much of anything with them to the hotel, and were able to gather their belongings in less than ten minutes. 

"Well, you ready for our magical night away to be over?" Ian asked, tugging Mickey against him by his belt loops. 

He rolled his eyes, but placed his hands on Ian's biceps. "I don't wanna go back just as much as you, but if you call it a 'magical night away' one more time, I will shave your head in your sleep," he promised, smoothing Ian's shirt over his chest. 

The ginger simply smirked and started unbuckling Mickey's belt, not breaking eye contact. "You know... your threats are becoming less and less violent," he said, reaching into Mickey's dress pants slowly. 

"Oh really, Gallagher? What would you prefer I say?" he asked, leaning into Ian a bit when he slipped his fingers around Mickey's cock. 

He shrugged a bit, walking forward until Mickey was sitting at the edge of the bed, then pushing him roughly onto his back before crawling over him and sitting on his hips. "I don't _mind..._ but if you keep doing that some people may think you're starting to go soft," he explained, leaning down to press his lips onto Mickey's. 

He hummed a little and arched off the bed a little at the feel of Ian's hand pumping over his shaft. He was the first to part his lips and licked his way into Ian's mouth for a deeper kiss. He undid Ian's button and zipper before pulling back and looking at him. "Well, see, Gallagher, you're the only one I'm being nice to but-" he wrapped his fingers around Ian's length "-I'm anything but soft around you," he smirked, and Ian rolled his eyes. 

"You're the most obnoxious person, I swear to-"

Mickey cut him off, leaning up to kiss him through his own laughter, not waiting a moment to invite his tongue into Ian's mouth. The ginger chuckled a little but kissed back eagerly, tugging Mickey's pants down his legs. He moved his mouth to Mickey's neck, adding to the collection of love bites on the pale flesh and pushing Mickey further up onto the bed, reaching into his back pocket for a condom. 

"Round two already, Gallagher?" Mickey groaned a little as Ian's teeth ran over his skin. 

Ian hummed and chuckled against his neck, slicking himself with lube. "Baby, I've been ready for round two since the second we finished round one," he corrected, positioning himself at Mickey's entrance and pulling back to kiss him on the mouth again. 

As he pushed in, he shoved his tongue into Mickey's mouth, and they both groaned. It took nearly no time at all for him to begin moving within him this time, both of his hands pinning Mickey's above his head. It surprised Mickey- though it shouldn't have- just how much emotion he felt being fucked by Ian the second time. He figured maybe their first time would just be too special to him or some shit, but it felt nearly the same in the morning, even if it wasn't as slow and savory as the night before. Which Ian seemed to make sure it wasn't- he was being far rougher and his fingers were sure to leave bruises on Mickey's wrists for days afterwards, but he hadn't even the slightest complaint. In face, it simply made him groan and kiss Ian harder meeting Ian's thrusts with his hips and resisting the grip on his hands. 

Finally, Ian let his hands go, but only to support himself on the mattress by his head as he plunged hard into Mickey, pounding at his prostate as he kissed his swollen lips. Mickey took full advantage of the freedom and wrapped his arms around Ian's neck, tilting his head down to kiss him deeper. 

He moved one hand to Mickey's cock without warning and began pumping it quickly, making him arch further off the bed and gasp at how it affected the sensations. He felt himself unraveling quickly and knew for a fact that he wouldn't last much fucking longer. 

"Ian, are you- fuck- are you close?" he panted against the redhead's mouth. He nodded quickly, returning to kissing Mickey as though he was unable to survive without his mouth. 

They came together moments later, lips interlocked and chests heaving. Ian pulled away from his mouth with an extra peck, panting heavily. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed, looking right into Mickey's eyes. 

His breath caught and his stomach fucking erupted with flutters. He moved his hands to the sides of Ian's face and pulled him down to kiss him, never getting enough of his mouth. When he pulled out of Mickey, he stroked his tongue one more time then rolled off of him. 

"Well that was... fun," he concluded, pulling the condom off and tossing it before fixing his pants. Mickey did the same quickly, glancing over at the ginger and smiling. Ian furrowed his eyebrows curiously and when Mickey finished buckling his belt he leaned over and kissed him again. Ian wasted no time kissing back softly, stroking Mickey's cheek when he pulled away. 

They stood up after that, trying to fix their sex hair and making sure they had everything before heading out. "Oh, by the way, thanks for fucking distracting me so much last night that I left our McDonald's on the floor in the elevator," Mickey said as they left the room and made sure the door locked behind them. 

"Oh, my apologies, since you're the one who pounced on _me_ the second we got into the elevator," he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he pressed the down button. 

Mickey crossed his arms. "Whatever."

"What are we doing when we get home?" Ian asked, reaching out to take Mickey's hand. He looked behind them instinctively before intertwining their fingers and shrugging. 

"I don't kn- oh fuck! I totally forgot to tell you, but your brother was looking for you at work I guess and Mandy fucked him," he explained quickly, surprised that he'd forgotten to tell him already. Although, to be fair it was only like seven in the morning. 

Ian's eyebrows practically shot to the ceiling as they stepped into the elevator. "Are you fucking serious!? What are the chances of that- actually wait, yeah, they're both kind of slutty," he conceded, chewing on his lip. 

Mickey looked over at him, "That's my fucking sister you're talking about." Ian gave him a look. "Yeah, she's a fucking whore."

"Nothing wrong with that," he shrugged, squeezing Mickey's hand. "I don't wanna go back," he complained as they reached the first floor. 

"Me neither," he sighed. And he didn't. The last thing Mickey wanted was to return to Chicago and have to kill Tony Zuta then be turned into a made man. At this point, after Mason's little stunt with Ian, he doubted there was any way to get around that anymore. If he was going to keep the both of them safe he really was going to have to take the plunge. And the worst part was that he couldn't tell anyone. Ian and Mandy would be completely clueless, and would have to continue to be if he wanted them to remain alive and well. 

Mickey strayed near the door while Ian checked them out, and held it open for him when he finished. "What a gentleman," he commented as he walked past. To prove him wrong, Mickey smacked his ass as they left the building. "What the fuck- nevermind, Mickey!" 

He laughed, following after Ian like the whipped fucking puppy he was. "I'm driving home, get in the passenger seat, bitch," he announced as they neared the Mustang.

"But I drove here," Ian whined, flopping onto the hood. 

Mickey flicked the back of his head. "Dent or smudge her and I'll fuckin charge you, got it? And yeah, that's exactly why I get to drive home," he shrugged. "Get the fuck in the car."

Ian rolled his eyes but obeyed, sliding in and buckling up. "Can we like... take the long way home?" he pleaded, and Mickey rolled his eyes. 

"The long way from Milwaukee to Chicago? Babe, it's like an hour and a half," he argued, starting the car. Ian crossed his arms and pouted a little, looking out the window. Mickey sighed, "Alright, what do you suggest I do?" 

Ian looked over at him forlornly and Mickey rolled his eyes at the theatrics. "Drive around Milwaukee a bit to see the sights," he pleaded. 

Mickey let his head fall back and groaned. "Ian," he whined. He didn't wanna go home, but he didn't wanna be around a fuck ton of people, either. Given the choice, he'd lie in bed with Ian all day long. 

"Come on, Mick, please?" he begged, uncrossing his arms to practically throw himself across Mickey dramatically. "I've never actually _been_ to Milwaukee."

He looked away, hoping that not actually seeing the face he knew Ian was making would make it easier for him to deny him, but Ian refused to let that happen. He shifted his weight so he was sitting on Mickey's lap, straddling him. He continued looking out the window, acting far more interested in the barren parking lot than he was as the ginger started touching his chest. 

"Baby, I'll owe you big time if we can just spend the day here together," he offered, putting his hands on either side of Mickey's face. He felt his resolve beginning to crack at the name 'baby' as it always seemed to now, but he chewed his lip with concentration, still refusing to look at Ian. He breathed out heavily and moved Mickey's face in his hands so he had no choice but to meet the ginger's bright green eyes. "Please, baby?" 

 _"Fuck,_ fine!" he burst, rolling his eyes. As though he wouldn't fucking give in to Ian. His entire face lit up excitedly and he pulled Mickey to him, hugging him tightly by the neck. Mickey did his best to act unaffected, but it seemed to be in his nature to crave Ian's touch, so he settled for patting his back. However, when he pulled back enough to kiss Mickey excitedly, he let his hands slide down to Ian's thighs, holding them tightly and leaning forward to get to upper hand in the kiss. 

The Mustang's horn honked loudly, though, causing both of them to jump as Ian's back pressed to hard against it. "Fuck!" they both gasped, then laughed. Mickey shoved Ian off of his lap with little determination, almost a little disappointed when he finished moving to his own seat by himself. 

"Thank you, Mick," he smiled cheekily, leaning up to press a wet kiss to Mickey's cheek. 

He scoffed and buckled up, already pulling out of the parking lot. Ian was entirely unaffected by Mickey's fake stony demeanor though, far too excited to let it bother him. After about thirty seconds of driving, Mickey already started craving Ian's touch. Trying to seem casual, he reached over and placed his right hand on Ian's thigh, now understanding why so many other couples did it. 

Immediately, Ian seemed to relax as well, placing his hand over Mickey's and twining their fingers together. He glanced over, expecting to meet Ian's eyes, but seeing his gaze focused on Mickey's tattoos. 

"You like 'em?" he asked, turning his attention back to the road. 

Ian shrugged, running his thumb along Mickey's knuckles. "Yeah, actually," he admitted. "When did you get them?"

"When I was fifteen," he answered honestly, trying to remember how to get to the Milwaukee Art Museum. "Mandy and I both got kitchen table tattoos," he shrugged. "I was a little thug back then, so here we are."

Ian chuckled, using air quotes, "'Was'."  

"Shut the fuck up," he replied, unable to keep his lips from quirking up. 

Ian squeezed his hand fondly and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Art museum," Mickey answered almost immediately. 

"Wow, that was quick. Were you thinking about this?" Ian replied, trying to gauge Mickey's reaction. He scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

"No, that's just the only interesting place in this damn city," he snapped. 

Of course he'd thought about it before. He wanted to spend every second of his fucking day showing Ian around Milwaukee and watching his beautiful face brighten. He wanted Ian to clutch his hand and squeeze it when he saw something that excited him. He wanted to take Ian to fancy restaurants and galas and all the things he knew he could afford that the redhead would adore. 

"Yeah right," Ian replied, rolling his eyes and letting go of Mickey's hand. He panicked for a moment and reached for it again before settling on Ian's thigh again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian's smirk and lip bite and felt him shift beneath his fingers to turn and look at Mickey. "I think you want this just as much as I do," he teased, biting his fingernail. 

Mickey glanced over, looking away immediately from Ian's distracting smile and tongue and eyes and stupid face. "I think you're just a little gayer than me, Gallagher," he scoffed, but even to his own ears he was unconvincing. 

Ian practically snorted he started laughing so hard. He smacked a hand back down onto Mickey's and held it again, still laughing. "Oh- shit baby, that's just not true," he laughed, running his thumb over Mickey's knuckles again. He rolled his eyes and tried tugging his hand away. "You're pretty fuckin' gay, babe," he said quietly and more calmly. 

"Not as gay as you," Mickey mumbled in response, despite the fact that they both knew that wasn't true. Ian considered it and seemed to make a decision as he leaned over the center console and kissed Mickey's neck once. He flinched away and shot Ian a look. "Don't you fucking dare," he threatened. 

Ian smiled, looking even more excited and mischievous than he had before. He unbuckled and started kissing down his jaw, letting his hands travel to Mickey's belt. He swallowed heavily and tried to focus on driving down the long, lakeside road. It was pretty barren since it was seven am on a weekday. Still, he felt himself already getting tense and worked up, finding it harder than necessary to keep the car moving in a straight line. 

"Shh, just let me prove that I'm gayer than you," he whispered, moving his fingers against Mickey through his pants. He let his tongue slide out against the lovebites littering Mick's throat and kissed hotly. 

Mickey blew out a breath through his nose and focused all of his energy on driving. He started becoming more and more comfortable as Ian left his neck alone and worked the zipper on his pants. However, the moment he had Mickey's length in his hand, his foot staggered on the gas. He didn't move his hand right away, and there was a sweet moment where Mickey's mind was clear enough to slow for a red light just before Ian's mouth was around him. 

 _"Fuck-_ Ian, no," he grunted, moving a hand to Ian's hair and trying to pull him off. Instead of doing so, he just swallowed Mickey's shaft deeper and groaned, earning moan from Mickey's throat. 

Of course, the moment he started getting distracted, more cars started occupying the streets, and the one behind him honked for him to move. Panting, Mickey licked his lips and pressed far too roughly on the gas, equally as exhilarated and irritated with the fact that Ian started bobbing his head over Mickey, his hand still buried deep in the red hair. 

"Ian, you need to fucking- stop," he nearly begged as the ginger flattened his tongue and swirled it around Mickey's cock. After another groan from Ian, he made a split decision, pulling over roughly and causing Ian to gag a little from the swerve. He wrenched Ian's head back roughly, glaring when he actually let himself be pulled up with a smirk. "Why. The fuck. Would you do that?"

He licked his lips and reached out a hand to continue stroking Mickey, completely disregarding his anger. He chuckled a bit, letting his head get wrenched back by the darker man, who was glaring and breathing raggedly. "What, Mickey?" he asked, touching his teeth with his tongue and flicking his thumb over Mickey's head. "Are you too gay to drive now?" he smirked, biting his lip and raising an eyebrow. 

Mickey studied him for a moment before surging forward and planting his mouth on Ian's, accepting the fact that he was, in fact, far too gay to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys i hope you liked this smutty, sort of filler-y chapter  
> i'm sorry that their little getaway has lasted like four chapters i just want my children to be happy  
> i'll progress the story a little more in my next updateee  
> please comment!!! please please <3<3<3  
> LOVE YOUUUUUU


	22. Chapter 22

Before they knew it, Mickey and Ian were back in the car only twenty minutes from Chicago. They'd both been reluctant to return, but did so after making out for fifteen minutes in the back of the Mustang. Their little tour around the city had lasted nearly three hours, stretching out as they both realized just how much they longed to be a couple in public.

It was almost noon, and the scenery around them started looking familiar as they neared the South Side. Mickey has his left hand on the wheel and the other intertwined with Ian's in the ginger's lap. However, as they passed the shops and restaurants that meant they were close to home, he pulled away, suddenly paranoid. 

"Mick," Ian sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

He didn't reply, knowing exactly what Ian was upset about. He couldn't help it, though, and it's not like he  _wanted_ to act like they weren't together. He stepped on the gas, hoping that seeing Mandy and Lip will distract Ian. Of course Mickey felt bad about pulling away from Ian, but it didn't matter what he did in front of other people, it mattered what they were alone. 

"What do you think your brother is in town for?" Mickey asked quietly, hoping to change the subject. 

Ian breathed deeply, but responded quickly, "He probably just wants to check in and make sure I'm not still a stripper or something."

"Which you... are?" Mickey asked, still uncertain what his boyfriend's situation was. Ian gave him a look. "Not?" Ultimately, he shrugged and crossed his arms without giving a direct answer. "Ian," Mickey said firmly, trying to get the redhead's attention. It was dangerous for him to continue in that line of work. Without the mob on his ass it was fucking dangerous. "Fucking Gallagher! Are you still working at the Fairytale or whatever the fuck?"

Ian took a deep breath and turned to look at Mickey. "Why the fuck does it matter to you?"

He pressed on the gas a little harder, wanting to get home even faster. Ian was getting on his nerves now, and he wasn't in the mood, especially after they'd had a good morning. He'd thought they were in a good place, but Ian seemed to want more than Mickey had the ability to give him. 

They were a few mere blocks from the apartment, so Mickey refrained from answering, not willing to pick a fight with Ian. He needed to get home, figure out what Lip needed, then he needed to take care of Tony Zuta and get the whole fucking thing over with. He wasn't looking forward to it, but he knew he'd rather have it done than be filled with anxiety every waking moment. 

Once he was a made man, he would have a little more leeway, especially with Ian. That's not saying they still wouldn't be in danger or wouldn't have to hide anymore, but there was a certain respect that came with being a made man. He wouldn't have to worry about assholes like Mason fucking with them anymore. He would certainly have to worry about his higher ups, though, since they could basically do whatever the fuck they wanted. 

He reached up and rubbed his eyes a bit before turning into the parking structure. He felt a heavy weight on his shoulders, filled with panic, guilt, relief and anxiety, and the one person who had any ability to ease it was fucking pissed at him. He parked haphazardly and got out of the car quickly, slowing to wait and make sure Ian was behind him before making his way into the stairwell. 

"Mickey," Ian sighed, grabbing his arm. He turned and looked up at the ginger man with confused eyes and immediately. He licked his lips in anticipation, worried what the redhead would say. His fears were erased suddenly as Ian leaned down and planted a kiss on his mouth. He kissed back without a moment's hesitation and went so far as to bring his hand up to cup Ian's jaw, not even worried about anyone seeing them. When Ian pulled away, he rested his forehead on Mickey's, both of their eyelids heavy and half closed. "I know... I know that we have to keep this private," he said quietly, running his fingers down Mickey's cheek. "But it's hard, especially when we spent the last twelve hours actually acting like a couple and we suddenly have to flick the switch off."

He nodded, clearing his throat. "I know, Gallagher, and I'm sorry, really," he replied. "Trust me, I'm not a fan of pretending either, but I need to keep you safe, Ian. It's not a question of whether I want us to be out, it's a question of whether I want us to be alive. If there was something I could do to change it, I would, believe me."

Ian simply kissed him in response and sighed as he pulled away. "I know," he said, pressing one last kiss to his mouth before pushing Mickey up the stairs. "Alright, we should go see my brother and your sister," he said reluctantly, and Mickey complied, knowing he was right. 

They made it up the stairs and to the apartment door quickly and Mickey didn't hesitate to storm in and stop short. Upon entering, he shouldn't have been surprised to see his sister on her back on the couch with a brown haired, toned man who he assumed was Lip, on top of her. Having sex with her.

"No fuckin' way!" he groaned, turning around immediately and running into Ian's chest. 

Ian put a hand on Mickey's back and looked around him to see what had happened. "Guys, what the fuck! At least put a fucking sock on the handle, fuck!" he burst, shutting the door behind Mickey's back. 

They both knew that neither of their siblings would have the decency to stop before they finished, so Mickey pulled away from Ian and sat against the wall next to the door, sliding down to sit. "Why do I always walk in on her fucking dudes?" he groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes. 

Ian rubbed his back and laughed, "I feel your pain. I've seen Lip fucking more girls than guys I think I've fucked."

Mickey scoffed and sat up straighter, moving his hands from his face. "Whatever, Mandy can never complain about us again," he laughed, bumping his shoulder into Ian's.

Barely a minute later, the door opened to reveal a shirtless Lip in his boxers, along with Mandy, who wore an oversized t-shirt and a pair of underwear- nothing new there. "Maybe knock next time," Mandy suggested, looking down at the boys.

Mickey stood up, holding out a hand to help Ian stand. "You want me to knock before walking into my own home?" he burst, pushing Mandy roughly into the apartment. 

"Ian, man, come here!" Lip growled playfully, grabbing Ian by the neck and pulling him in for a hug. Mickey watched carefully, smiling at the brotherly bond they seemed to have. "How you doin', dude?" He pulled away, still keeping his hands on Ian's shoulders and studying his face before his eyes traveled down to his neck. "Or  _who_ are you doin' I should ask! Holy fuck, let me guess...  Dracula?"

Ian's face broke out in a smile and he smacked Lip on the chest. "You can't give me any shit for my hickeys when I just saw you fucking my best friend," he pointed out. 

"Fair enough," he laughed. "Tell me everything, man, are you still working at that strip club? How's that one old ass boyfriend you had?"

"You mean Damion?" he chuckled, making his way to flop down on the couch. 

Mickey rolled his eyes at the thought of Damion and crossed his arms, unreasonably jealous. He looked over at Mandy, who seemed to be the only one who noticed his cold response to the name. She made a jerking off motion and stuck her tongue out at Mickey, who flipped her off and sat down next to Ian on the couch. 

Lip sat a ways away from him, and Mandy sat on his lap. "Sure, whatever the fuck his name was. That shady guy."

"Come on, he wasn't that shady," he said rolling his eyes. Mickey smacked him in the shoulder and shot him a look. "Okay, he was a bad dude, but-"

"No," Mickey interrupted. "No 'but's, Damion is a bad dude, and there are no excuses," he concluded, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms. When he looked up, both Ian and Mandy were giving him a look that said just how huge of a hypocrite he was. "What? I never said I wasn't a bad guy. Fuck off!"

They laughed, leaving Lip confused and a little lost. "Anyways...  you guys are done, then?" 

Ian nodded. "Yeah, left him... ended up with this other old guy, then I left him, too," he glanced at Mickey, who could tell he wasn't sure if he was allowed to say whether they were together or not.  

"Now he's stuck with me," he finally said. It's not like Ian's brother would run around and profess to the world that they were together. In response, Ian placed a hand on Mickey's thigh, and he raised his eyebrows a little. 

Lip smiled a little, running his fingers up and down Mandy's leg. "Well, man, I don't even know you and I already like you better than either of them," he shrugged, sticking out his right hand to shake Mickey's. He did so, smiling back at the man he just saw fucking his sister. 

That image was burned into his mind. 

"You still working at the club, though?" he reiterated, trying to get a solid answer from his brother. 

Ian took a deep breath, and before he had a chance to answer, Mickey was already speaking, "No. He's not working at the club anymore."

All three turned to look at Mickey simultaneously, Mandy with a wide grin on her face. "Oh really?" Ian asked, his fingers curling a little on Mickey's thigh. 

"We'll talk about it later," he muttered, rolling his eyes. 

He was sure that he was making just a dandy impression on Ian's brother, but he didn't really give a fuck. He was completely done with hearing about Ian's strip club and fucking hooker stories. He met both of the mobsters at that club, and he wasn't about to have him getting sucked into any more of that mess. 

"I  _really_ like this one, Ian," Lip said, throwing his head back and practically cackling. 

***

The evening came around quickly, with the four of them lounging around all day just before they all went to shower in collective pairs. Mickey and Ian decided against shower sex, as it seemed more dangerous than anything else.

As they stepped out of the steamy tub, though, Ian said, "What did you mean 'we'll talk about it later'?"

Mickey ruffled his hair with a towel to dry it before looking up at the ginger. "What the fuck you talkin' bout?" he asked.

Ian rolled his eyes and tied his towel around his waist. "When we were talking to Lip about me working at the Fairytale. You said that I wasn't working there anymore and we would talk about it later," he elaborated, sighing when Mickey walked out of the bathroom as though he hadn't said anything at all. 

"When's the last time you've even stepped foot in that shit hole, huh? It's been like... months," he pointed out, looking through his dresser drawers for something to wear on his work trip. He had decided already that he wasn't wasting any more time watching Zuta, since he was such a boring fucking nuisance who carried on his family legacy with pride. 

Ian scoffed, grabbing random shit from the drawer in front of Mickey and slipping into it. "So what? Maybe I still wanna have a job there in case I ever need extra cash," he argued. He and Mickey finished getting dressed in silence before they turned to face one another. 

"Alright, Gallagher, fuck you want me to say, huh? I don't want you working there? Just because it's true doesn't mean I'm gonna spill my fucking guts to you about it, alright? If you ever need extra cash you know I can cover you, so don't pull that shit. Work there if you fuckin' want, just because I don't like it doesn't mean I'll stop it," he said with finality, hoping that would be the last of that conversation. 

Ian didn't reply right away, so he skirted past the ginger carefully and walked to his gun safe. He liked to switch up the guns and bullets he used just in case there was any way the feds got a hold of the bodies he'd contracted and connected the dots. 

"What are you doing?" Ian asked with a sigh as he pulled out a trusty hand gun and checked that it was loaded. 

He rolled his eyes in response and put the gun into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, familiar with the heavy weight that rested on his chest. "Getting a gun, what are you doing?" he shot back, getting irritated with the way their afternoon seemed to be going. 

"Baby, look," Ian started, and Mickey rolled his eyes again, simply because he knew that he would give in just because of the pet name. "I'm not mad at you for saying no, but when you answer shit for me like that or  _tell_ me that I'm not working there anymore, you just... sound a lot like-"

"Don't you dare fucking say it," Mickey said without turning to look at him. Ian was going to tell him he sounded like Damion, or Rossi or some other asshole mobster that he was nothing like. He wasn't going to hear it or take it from the ginger. He did everything in his power the past few months to make Ian happy and safe- he was nothing like those jackasses. 

Ian reached out and grabbed Mickey's arm as he started walking to the door. "Come on, baby, you know I don't mean it like that," he tried to correct himself, but the damage was already done. Mickey was already settling within himself and burying his feelings on the subject so as not to start any more fights or drama. He swallowed the urge to rip his arm away from Ian, throw him the bird and stomp away to take his anger out on Tony Zuta. 

"I know," he sighed, nodding to further his point. "I gotta get going- work, you know," he added before looking up at Ian. "I'll probably be home pretty late." He licked his lips and glanced at Ian's hand on his arm before his eyes again. He leaned up quickly to press a kiss to the redhead's mouth and then turned to leave again, but Ian still didn't move his hand. 

 "Mick," he said firmly, and Mickey turned to look at him with an eyebrow raise. Ian had never used any type of assertive tone with him, and he wasn't sure if he was upset about it or not. "I didn't mean it like that," he repeated, the look in his eyes determined. 

Mickey swallowed and looked down, working again to stuff his thoughts and feelings down. He really didn't want to deal with them. "Yeah, I get it," he nodded. "I have to go, though."

Ian finally moved his hands, shifting them to Mickey's hips and turning them swiftly so the shorter man had no choice but to look at him. "I don't want you leaving here mad at me," he told him, searching Mickey's face. 

"I'm not."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "I'm not an idiot, Mick," he smiled softly, looking down where Mickey's hands rested at his sides. Almost immediately, he caught on and put his hands on Ian's chest, but it was too late. Of course, the ginger had already noticed that Mickey wasn't touching him, and after the day and night they'd had, it was obvious that the dark haired man could barely go thirty seconds without having at least a hand on Ian. He didn't address the fact that Mickey hadn't been touching him, but they both knew it was already a tell tale sign that he was unhappy. 

"I know you aren't, but I'm really okay, babe," Mickey tried desperately to reassure Ian that there wasn't a problem, although by that point it probably would have just been easier to tell Ian why he was upset and work through it in a healthy manner. 

Ian squeezed his hips a little. "Well I know you're lying, but I guess you don't have to talk about it. Just know that I don't think you're like... them. I was just saying I wanted you to elaborate on what you meant, I guess. I don't know. I'm sorry that I upset you, baby, but I  would never say anything to even insinuate that you're a little bit like those fuckers. You're incredible and they are douche bags," he spewed quickly, resting his forehead on Mickey's. "Okay?"

His worries and anger dissipated quickly at Ian's little speech, because why  _would_ he be able to stay angry at that adorable, considerate fucker? "Yeah... okay," he conceded, tilting his head up a little so Ian would kiss him, to which the redhead gladly and eagerly complied. The kiss was sweet and innocent, and lasted only a few seconds, but Mickey loved every moment of it. "I'll try to get back tonight before you go to work, but I don't know if I'll make it," he admitted. He wasn't exactly sure what Rossi had planned for him once he delivered the "package". 

"Alright, just try to keep me updated on your schedule," he asked, leaning down to peck one more kiss onto Mickey's swollen lips. "Please stay safe tonight," he practically begged. 

Mickey chuckled, "Come on, Gallagher, I've been in the business a while, I can hold my own."

Ian rolled his eyes and pulled away, giving Mickey's chest a little shove and opening the bedroom door behind him. They exited the room quickly and walked to the front door together. "Be careful," Ian said, yet again, once they reached it and fixed Mickey's coat. 

"Have fun with the horn dogs while I'm gone," he smirked, nodding towards Mandy's room. Ian laughed in response before leaning down and kissing Mickey again, deeply this time. His hand curled up into the ginger's hair instinctively for support before he pulled away. 

"See you tonight, killer," he said with a wink. 

Mickey raised an eyebrow, opening the door behind him. "Looks like you're getting a little more comfortable with that," he acknowledged. 

"Get the fuck out before it bothers me again," he said, obviously fighting laughter. Mickey stretched up for one last peck before giving in and shutting the door behind him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey babes, late chapter i know and i'm sorry  
> thought i would give you a little domesticity lol   
> next up  
> the KILL  
> okay anyways ily   
> please please comment <3  
> i'll update soon


	23. Chapter 23

He got there quickly, not wasting any time. 

He knew, after all, that once he got to Tony it would take only a few minutes to get the deed done, and with Ian waiting for him at home, he wanted to finish as quickly as possible. That, of course, was something he found he needed to work on, too. Dissociating. Especially dissociating his thoughts from Ian while he was out in the field. All it would do is distract him and make him think it's okay for Ian to be associated with that part of his life. 

He lurked around the side of the movie theatre, a cigarette tucked neatly between his lips as he waited for Zuta to get out of work. He got a small flashback to his last client, when he waited so calmly for Jason...

His head shot up and his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to remember the man's last name. He always remembered their names, whether he wanted to or not. What did it mean that the last name had slipped his mind? Was it a good or bad thing? His thoughts hadn't journeyed to that question since-

Ian. 

He hadn't even given it a moment since he saw the ginger in the grocery store that night. Ian really was a distraction- a beautiful, incredibly amazing distraction that Mickey didn't want to be away from for more than a minute, but a distraction nonetheless. 

"You got designer shades just to hide your face and you wear 'em around just to feel  _seen."_

Mickey heard the voice before he saw anyone, and was immediately snapped back to reality and took on a militaristic stance, stubbing his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. He palmed the inside of his coat to make sure his gun was still there and waited silently. 

"You never say hey or remember my name and it's probably cause you think you're cooler than me." 

There was no doubt it was Tony as he walked past Mickey, completely oblivious. But was this motherfucker  _actually_ singing Mike Posner in 2017? He rolled his eyes, walking to his own car as he made sure Zuta got to his. He obviously couldn't kill the guy right then and there, there was too much foot traffic at a movie theatre. 

Once he reached the Mustang, he looked up to see Zuta still making his way towards the street. Was this fucker actually  _walking_ somewhere alone on the same night Mickey was planning on offing him? There was no way he'd get that fucking lucky. 

Still, he waited to pull out and offer the man a ride, in case he already had someone coming to pick him up. That would just create witnesses, and the last thing Mickey wanted was to have to take care of someone he didn't have a contract for. 

Just as he'd suspected, a small, compact car pulled up in front of Tony and he slid easily into the driver's seat. Mickey cursed quietly and navigated through the parking lot, lingering behind the car, waiting for it to pull away so he could tail it. As he tapped his fingers on the wheel and waited, he felt his pocket begin to vibrate. If he recalled, he'd told everyone he knew not to contact him while he's on a job unless it was a complete and utter emergency. 

The only person who had not listened to those demands was of course, Ian. So when he pulled his phone out and saw that it was indeed the ginger who was calling him, he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and followed the silver car at a distance. He kept his head ducked so they couldn't see him through the rear view window, and allowed himself to fall back a few cars. 

The street lights flickered on around them and they turned right pretty abruptly. Mickey made sure his turn was as smooth as possible so it wasn't obvious he was following them. The town they were in was turning into a small suburb, which Mickey despised.

People paid attention in the suburbs, they noticed things. Sure there were less witnesses around, but in the city, passing patrons couldn't give less of a shit what you do. So he sunk a little lower in his seat and continued driving, praying they were just passing through. 

His phone began vibrating on the passenger's seat again and Mickey let out a loud,   
"Fuck!" before looking and seeing Ian's name again. 

"Are you bleeding?" Mickey answered, and he could practically see the confused look on his boyfriend's face. 

"What?"

"Are you fucking bleeding!?"

"No?" he replied cautiously. 

"Then why the fuck are you calling me while I'm working!?" he burst, flicking his left turn signal on to follow the car and waiting for a red minivan at an intersection to turn in front of him and separate him from Tony. 

Ian sighed heavily and then mumbled, "Because I miss you."

"Are you shitting me?" Mickey rolled his eyes and let out a deep breath. "You're a fucking dipshit, I'll be home in a couple hours."

As mad as he wanted to be with Ian, his heart swelled at the ginger. He really did want to get home as quickly as possible so he could kiss his stupid fucking face. 

"Can you come back faster?" he whined. 

Mickey blew out a breath through his nose and narrowed his eyes curiously as the car drove into a large, empty lot. "Look, I'll do what I can, but I can't help it. I'll make it up to when I get back, okay?" he promised, biting his lip as he observed Zuta getting out of the car and walk to a different car right next to it. This one was a black Chrysler and looked empty as he slid into the driver's seat and ripped out of the lot aggressively. 

Mickey followed far more calmly, making sure the driver of the silver car turned in the opposite direction of them. Finally, all he needed to do was get Zuta out of his car and alone. He took a deep breath and mumbled incoherently to himself about his game plan. 

"Mickey!?" Ian burst and Mickey felt his heart stop in his chest. Did he understand what Mickey was saying and get scared?? "Were you even listening to me!?"

 

He released a breath of relief. "No, baby, I wasn't, but I have to go. Like I said, I'll make it up to you when I get home, wear something pretty," he said and with that he hung up and tucked his phone into his pants pocket. 

Tony drove straight for a while, and the streets slowly became more populated and before Mickey knew it they were back downtown. As though he were granting Mickey's wishes, Zuta pulled over in front of a mostly vacant bar, with only a few people stumbling around drunkenly, but none close enough or giving enough shits to do anything. 

Mickey parked around the block enough that Tony wouldn't see him but enough that he could keep an eye on the blonde man. He stumbled into the bar, already looking a little inebriated. He must have started pregaming while the other person was driving him to get his car. Which was in a lot for whatever reason. That would make it far easier. With that, he made the split decision to get out and wait for Tony to come out, even if it took a few hours. He got out of his car and walked over to the run down bar, lifting a cigarette to his lips and lighting it quickly. As he leaned against the building and smoked calmly, he felt himself slipping into character Mickey. Into the hardass mobster he knew he had to be when it came to these things. 

Surprisingly, Zuta came out only a few minutes later, when Mickey was about halfway done with his cigarette. He exited the bar with a manila envelope in his hands. 

"Oh, hey, could I bum a ciggy?" he asked Mickey, standing a little too close to him. He let his hand fall from the cigarette in his mouth and took a puff, breathing around it. 

"Sure, I left my other pack in my car," he said, thinking on his feet. It couldn't be fucking easier. He nodded to the Mustang and started walking across the street, glancing behind him to make sure Tony was behind him. He did a double take upon seeing the man with a gun out and his arm extended. He was aiming a pistol directly at Mickey, standing a few feet away from him. "Fuck," Mickey said simply.

"Who are you and why the fuck are you following me?" Tony said, trying hard to speak in a low, intimidating voice, but failing miserably, especially considering the fact that his words were slurred.

Mickey's thoughts ran through his head a mile a minute, and he simply decided that he was going to lie. "My name is Mason. I've... heard about you and your family, and I just wanted to see-"

"Don't fucking lie to me!" he interrupted, stumbling a little and struggling to keep his eyes opened. Maybe he had more than just alcohol in that car. "Did my father send you? Does he want you to... to 'take care' of me!?"

"No, Tony," he shook his head. "Put the gun down and we can talk."

He seemed to process Mickey's request, and in his moment of distraction, Mickey pulled his gun out as well, but kept it at his side. He had a feeling he could still turn the situation around, it wasn't the hardest contract he'd had to complete, after all. 

"Tell my dad he can eat  _shit!"_ he yelled, and Mickey wondered just where everyone around them had gone. Tony raised the gun sloppily and Mickey tried to dodge it as he pulled the trigger, but to no avail. 

The gunshot rang out and the familiar noise rang in his ears just as a searing pain in his left bicep. "Fuck!" he shouted, hunching over and gritting his teeth through the pain. It wasn't his first time getting shot, but that didn't make it hurt any less. He looked up at Zuta, still bent at the waist and tucked his arm against his stomach. He raised his right arm, barely taking a moment to aim, and pulled the trigger.

His shot wasn't as loud, seeing as he had a silencer on the end of his barrel. Thankfully, his shot landed right between Zuta's pecks, and the man fell down almost immediately. 

Mickey let out a strangled yell at the pain in his arm, and felt the blood warming the skin around the wound. He was fighting with all his might not to go into shock, but that just meant he'd feel the full extent of pain. After a few moments, he tucked the gun into the back of his pants with his good arm and got into his car. He had half a mind to leave Zuta lying in the middle of the road, but knew that it would somehow trace back to him. 

He clenched his jaw as he pulled around so he could haul Tony right into his back seat. He groaned and got out, opening the door and leaning down to wrap his good arm around Zuta's core, letting out a strangled yell as he lifted him and pulled him onto the tarp Mickey had laid across his seat. He got Tony in the seat, but not without getting himself successfully trapped under his heavy fucking body. 

Mickey felt beads of sweat dripping down his face as he struggled to get out from under Zuta's dead weight. He leaned against the car once he made it out, and took a few deep breaths to savor the fresh air before he let out a long stream of air and collected himself. 

He bumped the back door shut with his hip and swiped Tony's forgotten gun from the road, tossing it into the backseat with the body. Once he was in the driver's seat, he wasted no time driving down the road, using his knee to steer while he buckled himself in and pulled out his phone, keeping his injured arm tucked against himself. 

"Mikhailo," he heard on the other line. 

"Hey, Rossi, I got your package," he said quickly, sounding strained. He started to see black around the edged of his vision and breathed deeply to try and push the shock out. 

"I knew you would. Why don't you come to the main house, Milkovich," Rossi replied, the tone of his voice strangely warm. 

"I should be there in about five minutes," he said, letting out a harsh breath. "Is Joey there by chance? Zuta got a good shot in before I had a chance," he explained. 

Rossi cleared his throat and said, "Joey can help you when you get here. Step on it, kid."

Mickey hung up the phone then, and placed his hand on the wheel, stopping harshly for a stop sign and scrunching his face in pain at the gun shot. Any other time, he would definitely step on it, but he wasn't exactly willing to break any simple laws after already having broken a pretty important one. He'd always had strict rules to remain a law abiding citizen after completing a contract. 

Even obeying every traffic law to a T, he reached Rossi's humble abode pretty quickly, and by the time he got there, Benny and Joey were already on the front porch waiting for him. 

He turned off his car and threw the keys into his pocket, stepping out of the car and meeting Joey right away. "Where did he get you?" Joey asked, knowing exactly what he was doing. 

Somehow, nearly every family in the mob managed to wrangle a doctor, and the Outfit's doctor was Joey. He finished medical school with an obscene amount of debt, and worked for two years afterwards, only managing to pay off three thousand dollars. Once he became a made man, he paid off the rest of it within four months. 

Benny opened the door to Mickey's backseat and started rolling Zuta's body up in the tarp. "Nice to see you again, Mickey," he said with a smile. Mickey had a feeling it would be hard for that kid to turn into one of the apathetic monsters he worked for. He had too much hope. 

Quickly, Joey seemed to assess Mickey's wound and put Mickey's good arm around his neck to help support him. "You've lost a lot of blood, Milkovich, let's get going," he said, pulling Mickey along with him into the house. 

"Don't scratch her!" Mickey yelled to Benny over his shoulder, to which the man replied with a thumbs up. 

Once they were inside, Joey immediately sat Mickey at the table and pulled out a pair of scissors and put them up to the sleeve of his leather jacket. 

"Woah! Joe, the fuck are you doing!?" he burst, jerking away and letting out a grunt of pain. 

"You're not gonna pull your arm out of the sleeve, and I have to get to the actual shot somehow, Mick," he said, and to try and prove him wrong, Mickey started pulling on the sleeve only to yelp embarrassingly in pain. Finally he huffed out a sigh and looked away, rolling his eyes when Joey laughed at him. He heard the scissors cutting before he felt anything and closed his eyes tight. His precious jacket was just another thing the damn mafia would ruin. The rest of the jacket was ripped open and off of him after that. 

"Ah, what the fuck, Joey! Can't you take your time, that shit hurts!" he hissed through his teeth, looking back at him while he started wiping blood away from the wound. 

He shook his head, reaching into his bag and grabbing a pair of what looked like pliers. He grabbed an airplane bottle of vodka along with a strap of leather and handed them both to Mickey. Mickey opened the bottle and downed it without a second thought before placing the leather between his teeth and biting down, ready for Joey to dig into the wound and get the bullet out. He'd been through this a million times with Joey by then, and he was always well prepared for his patients. 

"Actually, I can't take my time. I'm under strict instructions to have you in and out ASAP," he said, handing Mickey a cloth to hold under the wound and soak up the excess blood as his tool got a grip on the bullet in Mickey's bicep. "I think today's the day kid," he sighed, and Mickey looked over at him, his jaw going slack in surprise just as Joey pulled the bullet out. He clenched his teeth down hard on the leather and squeezed his eyes shut. By the time he opened them, Joey was already starting to stitch the wound up. 

Today?

They were going to make him a made man  _today!?_

He had to fight himself so he wouldn't start hyperventilating and swallowed thickly. "I don't think I'm aptly dressed for that, Joe," he admitted. "How did the Commission know I'd be taking care of Zuta today? I still have like three days left," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his good hand. 

Joey shrugged, "Fuck if I know, man. But they do have a suit they want you to change into. Mason or Benny can help y-"

"Benny," he said quickly. "Can you try and make sure it's Benny?" 

Joey smirked and nodded. He knew the bare minimum about Mickey and Mason, which basically meant that he knew the two of them at least  _used_ to fuck around. "I'll try and do that for you. He got shot in the leg, though, so I doubt he'd even have it in him to get up and help you. Always a bit of a pussy, that kid," he chuckled, rolling his eyes and Mickey nodded, smiling at him. "Alright, well, it's not my prettiest work, but it'll do," Joey said with finality. "There should be a sling in here... alright, here you go kid, wear that for a couple weeks, cut out the stitches when it feels better, you know the drill," he said, shrugging and tossing the piece of fabric at Mickey. "Upstairs second door on the right, I'll send Benny right up."

Mickey nodded and stood slowly, tossing the bloody rag in his right hand onto the table. He laughed when Joey flipped him off in response, and somehow stumbled his way up the steps, with Benny coming behind him almost immediately, helping him walk up the rest of the way. 

He changed quickly, surprised with how helpful and efficient Benny was. Once he got his suspenders on, Benny came up behind him with the suit coat, guiding it over Mickey's arm without moving the actual arm at all. After he was fully dressed, Benny helped him into his sling, and gave his good arm a fist bump. 

"Good luck, Mickey," he said with a reassuring smile. 

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Good luck for the rest of my fucking life now, huh?" he added, looking up at the dark man. Giving an apologetic smile, he shrugged. 

"Sorry, man."

He simply nodded in return. "Basement?" he asked, knowing that one or two times he'd snuck out of Mason's bedroom he had to stay away from the basement because the Commission was meeting down there. He nodded and Mickey sucked in a deep breath. "Alright."

With that, he made his way down the staircase and around the kitchen until he was at the door leading to the basement staircase. He shook out his good arm, took a deep breath and swallowed. 

He could do this. Like it or not, he'd been well prepared for this, trained for this by Rossi. 

Mickey opened the door and walked down the staircase, looking around as he met Gustavo Rossi's eyes. 

"Welcome, Mikhailo," he said, nodding. "Please step forward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg  
> omg omg omg  
> I'm so sorry ya'll   
> This is the longest I've ever gone without updating, and basically I suck.   
> I'll give you another update very very very soon, I swear.   
> The next chapter will be wild, too.   
> LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU   
> please comment, even though I'm the worst.


	24. Chapter 24

Mickey swallowed thickly and stepped forward into the light. He noticed immediately that he was in front of a curved table, seats filled with what he knew to be the Commission. Rossi sat near the right of the table and the boss at the center directly in front of him. He understood that it was a serious event, but damn they could at least turn on the lights in the basement. They were always so dramatic. 

Still, he knew exactly what was about to happen. Well, not exactly, but he knew the premise. In fact, he had no fucking clue exactly what would be happening in that basement. It was obvious they were gathering to make him a made man, and truthfully he didn't know how to conceal his anxiety. He had no choice but to follow this through, but that didn't mean he had any desire to or any real reason to. 

Even so, he bucked up and stood a little straighter, trying not to wince at the blinding pain that was still plaguing his bicep. 

"Do you know why you're here right now, Mikhailo?" the boss- Angelo Vitale- asked him calmly, his hands folded on the table in front of him. He was older than Rossi by at least 20 years, with gray hair and a receding hairline. He wore a pinstripe suit and had a cigar between his teeth; all he needed was a fedora and he'd be a classic 50's mobster. 

Mickey inclined his head, swallowing before he replied, "Yes, sir, I think I do."

The men chuckled a little and Rossi stood, a pride gleam in his eye as he approached Mickey. "Please extend your left hand," he said calmly, and he made a move to do it before wincing and sucking in a breath. Rossi looked over at Angelo and he simply shrugged and took another puff. "For your sake, I think it's safe to use your right hand. We can put tradition on hold," he said and the rest of the men chuckled again. 

He laughed nervously and put out his right hand, palm up before making eye contact with Rossi in some sort of desperate attempt for comfort. Even though Gustavo was simply a client that Mickey tended to once every few months, he was the only source of familiarity in the cold basement. He was also the reason Mickey was in the basement in the first place- he'd had to have sponsored him to even get his name in the running to be a made man. 

Rossi placed a card in Mickey's palm with the face of St. Francis of Assissi on it and reached into his back pocket. "You have, of course, heard of Omerta?" he asked, as he produced a knife from his overcoat. Omerta was the mafia's unbreakable code of silence. It kept the members and associates safe from law enforcement and ensured their loyalty. Mickey nodded, licking his lips. "Mikhailo Milkovich, please extend your left arm enough to lift your finger over the card," he asked, and Mickey bit the inside of his cheek, but moved his arm so his hand was over the card. 

Just as he had suspected, Rossi took a clean cut down his index finger and allowed the blood to drip onto the card. If his arm didn't already feel like it was being cut off, he probably would have winced at the prick. 

He wiped the knife off on his pants and put it back into his pocket, pulling out an old, expensive looking lighter instead. "Mikhailo, as I light this card, please repeat after me," Rossi instructed. Mickey's heart was beating faster than it ever had, and he fought to keep his hand from shaking. This was really happening- this is what the ritual felt like, and after tonight, there would be absolutely no turning back. 

Rossi lit his flame, and as he brought it to the blood spattered card in Mickey's hand, spoke clearly, "As burns this saint, so will burn my soul in hell if I betray the oath of Omerta. I enter alive and may only leave dead."

Mickey swallowed thickly as the card began to burn in his hand, already scorching his palm. "As burns this saint..." he looked directly into the flame, wondering how on earth he'd gotten to this point. "So will burn my soul in hell if I betray the oath of Omerta," he continued, looking up at the Commission gathered before him and studying each of their faces. Perhaps he could continue to manipulate them. Perhaps this wouldn't completely dictate his life. Or maybe it would end up being a good thing after all. Being a made man kept Mickey's life insured, unless of course he did something awful enough to get the entire Commission to vote him assassinated. He would be respected, protected, and most of all feared. No one would dare to ever go after him or Ian after today. 

"I enter alive and may only leave dead," he finally spit the words out, sounding far more certain and strong than he felt. As the last of the saint turned to scorching ashes in his hand, a smile broke out across Rossi's face. 

"Congratulations, Mikhailo," he beamed, pride oozing from his every pore. "You are now untouchable," he said, and Mickey knew in that moment that there was no longer any hope for redemption. 

He had made the mistake of taking up Rossi as a client, and now here he was, an official member of the Outfit. He didn't know how much of an impact it would have on his life or how demanding this new title would be for him, but he was petrified at the thought of finding out. 

Somehow he managed to float around the room and shake the hands of everyone, not wincing when they held his burnt- and he assumed blistering- flesh tightly and shook it with a smile on their face and a drink in their opposite hand. Finally he got to Angelo and, unsure of what to do, extended a hand with a bow of his head. 

"I've heard great things about you, Milkovich," he said in a low, grumbling voice. "I think you can do well here. Make a real name for yourself," he informed Mickey, shaking his hand gruffly. He tried to smile in response and ultimately knew it looked like a grimace. "Normally, we'd have you stay and celebrate, but personally I think the best celebration for a gunshot is some whiskey and a good night's sleep. Wouldn't you say?" 

Mickey laughed nervously, but nodded. "Yes, sir, I think that sounds absolutely incredible right now," he answered honestly. He was surprised to find such a down to earth man in the Boss of the Outfit- he'd met some real dicks who were only Capos or even soldiers. 

"Well then, get the fuck outta here. I'll cover for ya," he said with a wink, patting Mickey on his good shoulder. He laughed again and nodded once more before walking calmly to the staircase and starting his trek up it. 

"Milkovich! Mikhailo, wait," he heard Rossi's voice and paused, turning around to face him. The older man was grinning from ear to ear, a whiskey in one hand an a cigar in the other. "You did fantastic tonight. I hope you know that we all expect great things from you. I know what you're capable of- and you deserve this."

Mickey nodded, trying to smile, but faltering. "I sincerely hope I live up to your expectations," he lied through his fucking teeth. He wanted nothing more than to run as far away as possible and never return. 

"You will," he replied before gesturing up the steps. "Now get out of here and rest that shoulder up."

He wasted no more time getting the fuck upstairs. There was no one in the kitchen, thank god, and he nearly thought he'd made it to the front door when he heard a voice that made his skin crawl. 

"Well, well, well," Mason sighed. "Let me guess! Mr. Mickey Milkovich has become a soldier," he laughed, tipping back a bottle of rum and taking a few hearty swigs. Mickey shrugged indifferently with his good shoulder and felt his phone vibrate against his leg, as he had been feeling nearly all night. 

"You guess right," he replied, not willing to have this conversation. "Well, Mason, it was actually not nice to see-"

"I should've been the one down there tonight," he interrupted loudly, tossing the now empty booze bottle onto the floor of the living room. "I deserve it," he added. 

"You're right, Mason, you do deserve it," he replied to the obviously drunk man. Mason deserved to be a made man because he had the attitude for it- he was entitled, self-righteous and willing to do anything to get to the top. 

He sighed heavily and limped up to Mickey, nearly pinning him against a wall. "Then... then tell me why the fuck Rossi chose you," he said, his breath warm and rancid on Mickey's cheek. He wanted nothing more than to shove the man off of him and get the fuck out of there, but in all honesty, he was too overwhelmed and in too much pain to make a move. "What have you done that I haven't?" 

Mickey let out a deep breath and shrugged, "Well, I don't know Mason, it couldn't be that you're trying to buy your way in, could i-" 

His sarcastic comment was cut off by the feel of Mason's fist pummeling into his cheekbone. "Who do you think you are!?" he hissed at Mickey, whose face had whipped to the side. 

Slowly, he turned his head to look Mason straight in the eye. Almost immediately, the blonde man began to step back and seemed to shrink down. Mickey could tell that the look he must have been producing was undoubtedly murderous. "Look, Mason," he seethed, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and slamming him onto the wall instead. His wounded arm was practically immobile it hurt so badly and his brow bone stung, not to mention the blood he felt dripping down his cheek. He pressed his knee into Mason's thigh, exactly where he remembered planting a bullet. "You may have gotten away with laying one on me once or twice in the past, because I didn't care enough to actually fight you, but now?" he laughed a little, relishing the pain in Mason's face as he spoke. "Now you have no fucking choice but to respect me. You ever try to lay a goddamn hand on me- on Ian- again and I will literally end you. You think a fucking shot to the leg hurt? Just you fucking wait. If I ever find you so much as looking at him, I will kill you so slowly- so motherfucking painfully that by the time I finally do it, you'll be begging me for a bullet through your thick fucking skull. Do you understand me?" he finished calmly. When Mason's head nodded vigorously, he pushed him away haphazardly and walked to the door, the pained breaths echoing in the back of his head. 

The second Mickey made it outside, he felt as though his chest had a cinder block on it. He sprinted to his car and unlocked it, practically collapsing into the driver's seat. He checked the back to make sure they'd taken care of the body and finally rested his head on the seat, letting himself pant, as he'd needed to since he arrived. He didn't have enough air, couldn't seem to gulp down any oxygen at all- and what he did manage to wrangle into his lungs couldn't sate his desire to breathe. 

He started the car and pulled out his phone, wincing at the feel of the metal on his blistered palm. He had 8 missed calls and 12 text messages, split between Mandy and Ian. He wanted to call back, he really did, but he could barely catch his breath enough to pull away from the curb and race down the road to get home. 

He barely remembered the drive, didn't even know how he found his way into the parking structure and got a spot on their apartment's floor. He swallowed the lump in his throat and collected his keys and phone, stuffing them into his pockets before leaving the car and stumbling to the staircase. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to actually climb any steps, but walking down the corridor and trying to find his apartment was a task in and of itself. He was pretty sure he'd lost even more blood, and was almost certain that Mason had slammed Mickey's head against the wall hard enough to render him concussed. 

Once he found the door, he dug through his pocket for his keys, and fumbled to try and find the one he knew would work. However, rifling through sharp metal turned out to be a difficult task with not only one hand, but a hand with second degree burns at that. Eventually he gave up trying and just knocked on the door, his breathing still ragged and uneven. 

While he waited for someone to open it, he leaned against the frame, letting his eyes fall shut for a few seconds of sweet relief just before...

"Mickey what the fuck!?" Ian's voice shouted and Mickey's eyes shot open. 

Almost immediately, Mandy pushed him aside and her mouth opened slightly upon seeing Mickey. Surprisingly, though, she seemed to hold it together as she reached out and pulled her brother into the home by his good arm. She sighed deeply, realizing that Mickey was almost completely spaced out and lead him to the couch. "Really, Mick? What happened this time?" she sighed, taking in the sling, the swollen, bloody and bruised face, and the way he wasn't allowing his hand to touch anything. 

He didn't reply, simply looking between Mandy and Lip before feeling his eyelids droop shut of their own accord. 

***

He woke up in just as much pain as before, only this time, it was surprisingly tolerable. The reason for which was lap his head was resting in. He grinned lazily up at Ian and winked once the ginger finally looked down and made eye contact. 

Immediately, his eyes grew wider and he reached down to touch Mickey's face. "Oh my god, baby, what the fuck happened to you!? You told me you would come back fine and you fucking passed out the second you got home! You were shot, Lip says he thinks you have a concussion, not to mention your black eye and the blisters on your hand. What the fuck, Mickey?" he burst, and by the end, his voice had returned to a normal volume. 

He shook his head, each movement inducing a sharp pain through his skull. "Fuck, I missed you," he whispered, reaching up with his right arm to pull Ian down, noticing that he was completely naked except for his boxers and sling, and they'd wrapped his gunshot would and hand in gauze. Ian allowed himself to be brought down to Mickey's mouth, and kissed him desperately. Just then Mickey realized exactly what he'd needed when he couldn't breathe last night. 

He'd needed Ian. The redhead was truly becoming the only air that filled his lungs, the only presence that seemed to sate him and the only mouth that pressed away all his troubles. 

He whimpered into Ian's mouth, allowing his tongue to tangle with the ginger's. Ian was kissing him as though he'd never see Mickey again, as if this were the last kiss they would ever share. Which was impossible, of course, Mickey would never let that happen- especially not after last night. 

Once he started to feel dizzy- and not a good dizzy- Mickey pulled Ian's head off by his hair. This, however, didn't seem to mean much to him, because he just began littering kisses all over Mickey's face. After a few moments, he felt something wet on his cheek and looked up to see tears in Ian's eyes. 

"Woah, woah, baby, st- fuck!" he tried to sit up and winced, unable to continue through the pain in both his arm and his head. Ian guided him upwards so he was straddling the ginger and had his good arm draped around Ian's shoulders to keep him upright. "Baby," he repeated, breathing heavily and meeting the redhead's eyes warily. "Please, please don't cry. I'm okay, I promise," he tried to assure Ian, but it was painstakingly obvious that Mickey was far from okay. And Ian didn't even know what had actually happened last night. 

Ian shook his head before resting it against Mickey's forehead. "You're really not okay, Mick. You were fucking shot! And what happened to your hand? Oh my god, why the fuck didn't you answer any of my calls? You said you'd make it up to me, Mickey, and what, you thought you'd do that by coming home so fucking injured that you pass out the second you walk through the door?" he asked, tears escaping his eyes slowly. 

Mickey felt an ache in his chest knowing that he did this to Ian. He was the reason behind the fear and worry in those green eyes, and there was nothing he could do or say to ease it. So he did what he knew would at least make both of them feel a little better and kissed him. 

He kissed away the induction ceremony last night, kissed away Tony Zuta and Mason and all the things that had gone wrong in the past few days and replaced them with the one thing in his life that seemed to be right. 

Ian. 

He kissed him until Ian was all he could feel or think or care about. Until his lips were bruised and swollen from being bit and licked and pressed against the ginger's with so much passion and intensity that it ached to keep doing it, and yet he couldn't stop. He kissed Ian until he finally realized the one thing that he knew would keep him going despite the mafia he had sworn his loyalty last night. 

Mickey loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello there my beautiful saplings  
> this was one hell of a chapter to write holy shit  
> was the ending too cheesy? idk  
> also my favorite part was the angry little threat against Mason, like overprotective Mickey is my favorite Mickey to write about. aside from fluffy, in love Mickey  
> anyways PLEASE comment, because i know this chapter was very very heavy  
> i love you all and i'll update soon   
> <3 <3 <3


	25. Chapter 25

The morning came and went as Mickey and Ian slept soundly in their bed. Mickey was the first to wake up and sat up slowly, being careful not to rip his stitches. He sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes with his semi good hand. Cautiously, he rose and made his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth quickly and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

His left eye was a disturbing mixture of purple, brown and green with a cut just underneath it. The bags under his eyes were unmistakably deeper and darker than yesterday and the gauze covering his bullet wound had a blood stain coloring it. He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, turning around to leave. On his way through the door frame, he smacked his knee against the wood and hissed out a breath through his teeth. Might as well add another bruise and a limp to his list of injuries. 

Careful not to wake Ian, he slipped out of the bedroom with his cell phone, not daring to check it. He smelled coffee immediately when he reached the hallway and shut the door behind him. Mandy was the only one standing at the kitchen counter, donning her usual baggy t-shirt and pair of underwear, only this time it wasn't Mickey's shirt. It was Lip's. 

"Morning, sis," he said softly, taking a seat at the table behind her. She turned slowly, a spatula in her hand. 

She turned back around after laying eyes on him, clearing her throat quietly. "Morning, Mick," she replied. They were silent for a few minutes after that, Mickey watching Mandy make pancakes and shovel them onto plates. She turned off the flame once she ran out of batter and took a plate to the table, setting it in front of her brother. Mickey wasted no time digging into his sister's classic buttermilk pancakes, but noticed that Mandy sat quietly across from him, not taking a single bite. 

"You alright, Mands?" he asked around a mouthful of food. 

She studied the top of the table for a few moments before raising her eyes to meet his. "It happened last night, didn't it?" she asked, her voice strong and certain yet frightened. Mickey looked away quickly, unable to bear the pain in his little sister's eyes. He nodded, prodding the food with his fork, suddenly having a loss of appetite. "They inducted you," she added, lifting her hands to the table and fiddling with her fingers. 

"They did," he confirmed. He should have known that Mandy wouldn't need any sort of evidence other than a burnt hand and a bruised face to know that he'd past the point of no return. A gunshot meant nothing since she'd dealt them multiple times in the past. 

She sniffled and cleared her throat again before reaching out and covering Mickey's wrapped hand in her own. "You know I'll be here for you the whole time," she assured him, nodding her head. "This won't make a difference, Mickey. It won't change you- it can't. You're strong and capable and you can hold your own, okay? I know you, and I have faith in you," she said, her voice growing more watery by the word. 

Mickey had to blink away his own tears. Mandy had always been his number one supporter, the most honest person he's ever known and the best friend he'd ever had. If she believed in him, he knew he could do anything. He  _would_ do anything if it meant he would make Mandy proud of him. Everything in the world he'd done up until the minute he met Ian was to make her happy. 

"I don't know that that's true, Mands," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I'm gonna try, but I've never met a guy who got in and was ever the same. There's no getting out anymore."

She shook her head, reaching up with her free hand to wipe the tears from her face. "Mickey, you have to understand that you'll get through this. When you come out the other end, everything will be okay-"

"No, Mandy," he interrupted, trying his hardest not to sound too harsh. "There is no other end. 'I enter alive and may only leave dead.'" He repeated the oath to her, but also to himself. It was actually hitting him in the morning that this was the rest of his life. Mickey was only 23 and had his whole life ahead of him, the rest of which will now be spent killing people and making money in any and all unsavory ways. 

Although to be fair, "the rest of his life" would probably only end up being fifteen, maybe twenty, years at best in the mafia. 

She nodded in understanding, wiping her cheeks again. "I know... I know. But that doesn't change anything. I know you're trying to be strong, Mickey, and I love you for that, but it's okay to be scared about this. It's okay to be worried that it'll turn you into a different man. In fact, I would be surprised if you weren't. The fear is what will keep you from turning into something that you're not. The fear of disappointing me, of disappointing Ian. I know you'll pull through this. You've done it before. The mafia doesn't have shit on my big brother," she said with a sad chuckle. She looked up at him with a small smile and squeezed his hand. "I love you, Mick."

He nodded, squeezing back. "I love you, too, Mandy."

She pulled away and took a deep breath, wiping her face once more before pulling her dark hair up into a messy bun. "So tell me... is Ian finding out about this?"

"Look, Mandy I-"

"Is Ian finding out about what?" the ginger's voice interrupted them curiously. Mickey pursed his lips and looked down almost immediately. How the fuck could he ever tell Ian what happened last night? The look of relief on his face when Mickey told him that he wasn't  _actually_ part of the mob was so pure and happy, he couldn't do anything to make that change.

Neither of them answered right away and Mickey felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at Ian just as he was kissed hard. He kissed back, ready as always to engage in a make out session with his boyfriend. Ian, however, pulled away after only a moment, sitting directly beside him. 

When neither Mickey nor Mandy said anything after a few minutes, his eyebrows furrowed. "What's happening right now?" he asked, looking between them worriedly. Mickey hadn't really given him an explanation as to what had happened last night, but Ian let it go since he was being kissed most of the time anyways. Now, though, there was no reason for Mickey to keep it from him any longer. The only question was whether he was going to come up with a bald faced lie or not. "Mickey?" he asked, turning to his boyfriend. 

Mickey licked his lips and tried to shift his arm in the sling, but wincing when he failed. "We were just talking about..." he furrowed his eyebrows, still unsure of whether he was going to lie or not. He looked to Mandy, who gave a little shake of her head. "My night."

"Oh, well good, I wanted to talk about that anything. I figured you were still kind of in shock last night, but Mickey what the fuck happened to you? Did things go wrong with that guy?" he asked, concern etched into each one of his sharp features. He rested a comforting hand on Mickey's thigh. 

Mickey looked down at it and swallowed, taking in a deep breath. "Ian, last night I... I was working when this happened," he looked down at the gun shot. "He got a pretty good shot in before I had a chance to..." he looked up and saw Ian's furrowed eyebrows and shook his head. "Anyways, when I stopped at the client's house- Rossi's house- I..." he sighed heavily, unsure of how to even form a coherent sentence that would explain his internal struggle. 

"They fucking inducted him into the mafia last night," Mandy burst. Mickey shot her a surprised and angry look. "What? One of us had to spit it out at some point," she said and rolled her eyes. 

They turned their attention back to Ian, who looked like he was about to throw up. Mickey immediately jumped to comfort him. "Look, Ian, just because I said some bullshit oath and held a burning piece of paper doesn't mean anything, okay?" he assured him quickly. "I'm still me, nothing here will change, I promise."

Ian laughed mirthlessly and a hand through his hair. "So, what, you and Rossi and fucking Damion are gonna be coworkers now?" he asked, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

"No, Ian, baby-" he reached out to touch him, and Ian jerked away before he could make contact. 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. You come home beaten up and  _shot_  and you haven't even officially been a part of it for twenty four hours? Is this going to be a normal thing now? You coming home like this every night?" he asked, looking Mickey up and down. 

Mickey shook his head immediately and opened his mouth to answer before he was cut off by his sister. "If we're all being perfectly honest, this has always been a normal thing. Mickey comes home bruised and shot all the time. What gave it away this time was his hand," she explained. "You just came in at a lucky enough time that he was uninjured for a while."

"This doesn't just have to be a bad thing, Ian," he tried to explain. "There are perks about being a made man. I won't come home like this as much, actually- I have a certain degree of respect now. And with that respect comes protection. No one will ever lay a hand on Mandy, not even the pervs at her work," he said, glancing over at her. "And... even though it might make things a little harder for the two of us, no one will ever tell Damion or Rossi directly that we're together. So even if we have to be a little more careful about neither of them finding out, we're safer in other ways."

Ian rested his head in his hand, his eyes falling shut. "I just- I've seen the way this power affects people, Mickey, and of course I know you're different, but... it corrupted Damion and-"

"Will you stop comparing me to those pieces of shit!? You did this even before I left yesterday!" Mickey burst, and both Mandy and Ian flinched a bit at the sharp edge in his voice. He breathed out deeply and swallowed. "I will never be like Rossi or Damion, okay? I won't ever allow myself to get to that point. And I thought you would trust me on this."

Ian nodded, "I do trust you, Mickey. I was just hoping that eventually things would get easier for us. That we wouldn't have to leave the state just to go out on a date. I figured eventually you would do something else for work, not just get... promoted from a hit man."

 Mickey chewed the inside of his lip. He had never planned on changing his profession, not that he wouldn't have considered it if Ian had brought it up. With a few more clients a year, he could save up enough to retire within half a decade- people were willing to pay astounding prices to have someone else do their dirty work for them. 

"I know," he replied. He didn't know what else to say. There were no words to make either of them feel any better about the whole thing. 

Mickey seemed to be coming to terms with it already, trying to look at the silver lining, however thin it was. He looked forward to being respected instead of seen as just another employee who would do whatever he was told. Sure, being a soldier would mean doing a lot of the hands on work, but it would come with incredible perks. He'd be making more money- though he'd be involved in more crime. He would have access to one of the lawyers they had on hand- associates had to work pretty hard to get their hands on a mob lawyer if they ever found themselves in some shit. 

Plus, he didn't really know how different his work would be now. He would be let in on more secrets; after swearing to uphold Omerta, they really laid it on you, which would definitely be interesting. He didn't plan on spilling any of that to Ian or Mandy, though. In fact, he was going to keep as much from them about his new profession as possible. He'd tell them the absolute bare minimum to keep them protected. Women connected to made men were always incredibly well protected- Mickey's sister was Joey's sister, too, and Joey's daughter was also Mickey's. They may be homicidal maniacs, but they made damn sure the women in their lives were untouchable. He did wish, though, that the rule also covered boyfriends, but unfortunately, the mafia was a little behind on the times, and frowned upon homosexual relationships. So, really, Mickey, Rossi and Damion were all ensured that they wouldn't out the others because if one of them went down, the others eventually would as well. 

"Well, I made all this food, let's not let it sit here!" Mandy said, finally making a move to break the tension. 

"Actually, I need to run a few errands today," Mickey argued, already trying to stand up from his seat. 

Ian put a hand on his arm and shook his head. "You're staying here and resting today," he told him, leaving minimal room for negotiation. "You can start your new 'job' tomorrow, but today you're relaxing and healing. For me, please."

Mickey closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to fight the urge to give in. When he opened his eyes, though and saw Ian's pleading face, the decision was already made. "Fine. I'm going back to bed, then," he said, giving Ian a look that said 'and you're coming with me'.

Mandy groaned loudly, "Fine, leave the most delicious breakfast you could've had and go have sex like the animals you are."

Ian rolled his eyes and stood up, putting a hand on Mickey's back as they walked back to his bedroom. He closed the door behind them and watched as Mickey made his way to the bed and sat on the edge. 

"Do you promise that this won't turn into that big of a deal?" he asked Mickey hopefully, approaching him slowly. He kneeled between Mickey's legs, resting his hands on each of his thighs. 

Mickey nodded and ran his right hand through Ian's red hair. "I promise, Ian. It might take up a little more of my time, and I'll probably be a little more stressed than usual from time to time, but nothing between us will change, and I'll do my best not to get sucked into all the drama," he assured him. 

Ian took a deep breath and smiled warily. "You're lucky I trust you," he laughed a little, tilting his head up in a silent plea for a kiss, to which Mickey happily complied. 

He wanted nothing more than to make good on his promise and make up for being out practically all last night, but he had no idea how he'd do that with one arm immobilized and one hand he could barely even hold a fork with. So he let the burnt hand rest on the back of Ian's neck and kissed Ian thoroughly. 

Soon, he began to stand, not parting his lips from Mickey's. He reached under his thighs and lifted him in one impressive movement before sitting down on the bed so Mickey was straddling him. This might be able to work. 

Mickey shifted a little further up Ian's lap, and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, using his leverage to grind against the ginger's hips. Ian seemed a little hesitant at first, but got over it quickly as he ran his fingers up Mickey's thighs and started guiding his hips into a steady rhythm, still kissing him, albeit a little slower now. 

He pulled away a moment later, looking Mickey in the eyes. "Are you okay? Does your arm hurt?" he asked, far too worried. 

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm sure you won't like hearing this, but I've been fucked after I got shot in the ass, I think I'll be okay without one arm," he chuckled, brushing his nose on Ian's. 

Ian rolled his eyes, moaning a little when Mickey continued rolling his hips. "Of course you have, because you're a man whore," he laughed, and Mickey paused. Did he really just get turned on from being called a... man whore? "I know that look," Ian said, his eyes widening excitedly. "That's the face you make when you find something new you like," he said, touching his tongue to his teeth. "You like dirty talk?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Pfft, no. Can you just fuck me so we can get this over with?" he asked, refusing to meet Ian's eyes. 

Sure it was fun to find new things out about himself, but it was embarrassing to discover them in the moment  _and_ have Ian address them! 

"Oh, Mick, you're so romantic," he said dryly, hooking his fingers into Mickey's boxers and working them off his legs before getting rid of his own. He reached into the nightstand, pretending not to see the Glock right next to Mickey's condoms and lube. As he put both items onto himself, he reached down and slid his fingers into Mickey slowly, covering his neck in wet kisses. 

Mickey moaned a little, tugging on Ian's hair a little when he knew he was more than ready to get a move on. He lined Ian up with his entrance carefully, and leaned forward to kiss him as he slid down slowly. It had only been a day and a half since the last time they'd had sex, but it felt like ages to Mickey. With Ian within him, he finally felt at peace, as gay as it sounded. 

And riding him felt just as intimate as being on his back. Ian's hands gripped his hips so tightly that it was almost painful, and his lips were kissing so hard that he could tell Ian was aching for Mickey to move. 

However, since he'd pointed out Mickey's little glitch a few moments earlier, Mickey decided to put him through a little torture- despite the fact that he desperately wanted to move as well. He pulled away from Ian's mouth and licked a hot strip up Ian's neck, kissing just under his ear. 

Sensing what he was doing, Ian snapped Mickey's hips forward, almost immediately earning him a growl of pleasure from the darker haired man as he hit Mickey's prostate. "Start moving, you fucking slut, or I'll do it for you," he said in a level, calm voice in Mickey's ear. 

His breathing started to quicken at the command, and he immediately began rolling his hips, savoring the feel of Ian within him. He couldn't help but moan as Ian's fingers tightened even more on him, and helped keep his hips moving. 

"Looks like you wanted to move just as much as me," Ian said, his lips brushing Mickey's ear. He groaned in response, pressing his lips to Ian's neck. "You needed it that bad, huh?" he whispered, winding one of his arms around Mickey's back. 

Pleasure burst beneath Mickey's eyelids as Ian continued to whisper filthy things into his ear. Mason had tried to talk dirty to him before, as had other partners he'd had, but Mickey had found it uncomfortable and strange, and had asked them to just not make any noise while they did their business. He expected nothing less than the complete opposite when it came to the redhead. Not only did he not mind the harsh words being thrown at him, he encouraged them with his moans and compliance. 

Ian's hand wrapped around Mickey's shaft a few moments later, and he bit gently at his neck, absorbing the noises of approval the shorter man was making. "We sure are vocal today," Ian moaned, and Mickey quickened his pace, bouncing faster now as he felt himself nearing his climax. "Why don't you tell me how good it feels?" Ian suggested in a husky voice. Mickey's breath caught mid-groan, and he could've come just then, but held back while Ian kissed his jaw. "Tell me, Mickey," he repeated. 

Mickey could barely catch his breath as he replied, "So fucking good." 

"Do you need to come, Mick?" Ian asked, his voice surprisingly level, especially considering the fact that it seemed as though he couldn't help but move his hips in sync with his boyfriend's. Mickey nodded quickly, a whine nearly tumbling past his lips. Ian turned so his breath would tickle Mickey's ear. "Come for me, baby," he commanded and Mickey wasted no time doing exactly that. 

Ian didn't stop pumping his hand until he knew for sure that Mickey was completely finished. He wiped his hand off and leaned forward to kiss Mickey deeply, wrapping both of his arms around his back so their chests were completely flushed. 

He helped Mickey off of his lap and tossed the condom into the trash quickly before laying back on the bed. Mickey laid beside him on his back, his chest still heaving. 

"Holy fucking shit," Mickey panted, still not over it yet. He had no idea sex could feel like that, which was sad because he'd had his fair share of sex, but incredible because he wanted to experience all of it with Ian. 

Ian laughed a little, kissing his cheek and laying on his side so he could face his boyfriend. "You good, baby?" he asked, and Mickey nodded. "We'll have to do something about that mouth of yours next time." Mickey's head snapped to the side to look at Ian, who was grinning cheekily, already more than prepared for "next time" to happen. "But I was the one who said you needed rest, then did the opposite of rest, so that can wait," he assured, reaching up to stroke Mickey's cheek carefully. 

"Right," he agreed. "That can wait."

Shortly after, he felt himself already falling back asleep, comfortable and sated in Ian's arms. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup homies  
> i'm a little uncertain about this chapter, but hey   
> we're getting into the kinky stuff which is fun  
> please comment your thoughts, as i love hearing them  
> i'll try and update tomorrow, because i still feel bad about leaving you hanging for two weeks  
> but we'll see ;)  
> love ya!!! comment <3


	26. Chapter 26

The next twenty four hours passed in a strange, hazy blur for Mickey. Ian catered to his every need, barely letting him leave the bed to take a piss. He found Tylenol with codeine and made sure he took it every 4 hours to subside the pain and re-wrapped it to be sure it didn't get infected. However, he was running around so much and was distracted left and right that Mickey barely had any time to say two words to him that weren't about his current physical state and pain on a scale of 1-10. 

By the third time Ian ignored Mickey's attempt to kiss him, he knew something was up. "Hey, can I have a motherfucking kiss, you asshole?" he snapped, and Ian froze, turning to look at him from the pile of papers he'd printed from Web MD. Once they made eye contact, he rose an eyebrow and puckered his lips, waiting for the ginger to respond to him. 

Ian licked his lips and leaned down, pecking Mickey's lips quickly then turning back to his papers. "Do you feel feverish?" he asked, lifting his hand to Mickey's forehead. "Are you always this warm?"

"Can you calm down for two fucking seconds about the gunshot? It'll be fine, Gallagher, this isn't the first time I-"

"Not the first time you've been shot, yeah I know," he interrupted, rolling his eyes and turning his back to Mickey. "That makes me feel so much better," he mumbled under his breath. Mickey huffed quietly and started standing up, immediately pushed down by his good shoulder. "You need rest," Ian said distractedly, reading his sheet and chewing on his thumb nail. 

Finally finished with the constant tending, Mickey reached out and grabbed the papers from Ian's hands. If he was gonna be ignoring Mickey's actual questions and requests to read this shit, he wanted to see what it was. 

"Hey- give that back! Mickey, stop!" Mickey's face must have changed immediately upon reading the title because Ian's voice grew panicked. "Can you actually not?"

His eyes scanned what looked like a personal profile quickly. "Ian, what the fuck is this?" he asked, his voice stern and steady. 

"It's not important," he replied, trying to get the papers back and shaking his head. 

Mickey moved them from Ian's reach. "Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice a mixture between hurt and furious. 

"I have a fucking friend, okay? I just needed to see-"

"Needed to see what!? Your boyfriend's fucking felonies?" he cut Ian off, shaking his head. "First of all, if you 'needed to see' that badly you could have fucking talked to me, and second you told me you trusted me, Ian-"

"Whether I trust you or not isn't the fucking point, okay!? And bullshit 'I could've talked to you', you would've told me it's safer if I don't worry about it," Ian argued, pretty accurately Mickey had to admit. "I wanted to know just how deep you were-"

"Yesterday you were perfectly fine with all of this, Gallagher, what the fuck happened between then and now? You're going behind my back and talking to 'friends' to get my police record!? Is that how this is gonna be? You tell me one thing then turn around and find a way to figure out what you need to know without consulting me? You do realize this is- it's-"

"It's what, Mickey? A  _crime?"_

Mickey looked up at Ian and finally stood. "You know what?  _Fuck_ you, Gallagher," he laughed mirthlessly. "Go ahead and act like everything is fine, then go psycho obsessive and change your mind, what the fuck do I car-

"Right, what the fuck do you care? I have way more of a right to be angry than you, Mickey! You joined the fucking  _mafia!"_ Ian yelled, grabbing the papers from Mickey's hand. "You told me not even three fucking weeks ago that you weren't a member of it and you could always get out, but now? Now we all fucking know that there's nothing you can do to leave, if you even fucking want to-"

"You think that I  _wanted_ this shit? Of fucking course I didn't, you dick! What I don' t understand is why you acted like you were fine with it-"

"Of course I wasn't fucking fine with it! But, Mickey, you had just been  _shot,_ do you understand that!? A normal, competent human being is a little bit affected by a gunshot! They need support and comfort and understanding, but  _obviously,_ with you that is not the goddamn case! You need to act like nothing ever fucking changed because that's how you cope! You bury all your bullshit and as long as everyone pretends it didn't happen, then did it  _actually_ happen? Well yes, Mickey! It actually fucking happened! You killed that guy, and where did it get you? Inducted into the fucking Outfit! And if you hadn't pretended all the motherfucking time, you could've gotten out of this before Rossi had his eyes on you at all! So either you're an unhealthy, mentally incapacitated lunatic who suppresses all rational thoughts and feelings or some deranged, homicidal part of you really did want this. And you know what? I fucking hope it's the second once," he finished with a sneer, crumpling the papers up and throwing them to the side before storming out of the room. 

When the bedroom door slammed with a thunderous crack behind him, Mickey was far too in awe to even bother flinching. Ian had never come close to blowing up like that on him, and the look he'd had in his eyes while doing so was something he'd never imagined seeing. Once he came to his senses, he figured it would probably do more harm than good to even try going after Ian at all. 

He sat back down on the bed and dropped his head into his hand. Ian was fucking right, he never dealt with anything. He refused to let himself feel the aftermath of any of his actions,  _especially_ when completing contracts. In fact, he'd been in the business so long that he'd found out how to take the energy that came with a kill and fuel it into some other emotion- like when he'd snapped on Mason. 

To be fair, Mason had it more than coming with the way he'd been treating and talking to Mickey in the first place, but that wasn't an excuse. Shooting him at all was probably an affect of that, as well. He groaned into his hand and then sighed deeply. 

He'd give Ian a little while to cool off, then would approach him. He knew though, there was nothing he could do or say to make either of them feel better now that the damage was already done. It was bound to happen for a while now, in all honesty. Mickey made one wrong turn and from then on he was doomed. 

Now he just had to accept his fate and do what they told him to if he wanted to stay alive. He planned to do the bare minimum to keep himself afloat on the mob raft. He'd probably try his hand at earning money through the drug cartel or try to do something a little more honorable than murder. 

He doubted that would be possible, though. 

The more he thought about it, the less pliable options he really found. He could continue in his current profession, although now he probably wouldn't be getting paid from his richest client anymore- he'd now have to  _give_ Rossi money instead. He could make pretty good money from the other clients, he'd just have to be extra careful. The drug cartel was always an option, but having the actual product on him scared Mickey- he and Mandy were pretty loose with themselves when they were younger and tried out any and everything they could find. They'd thankfully stopped, but he didn't know how much self control either of them would have if he had the product on him at all times. 

That left one option that seemed more appealing than anything else. And option that let him work from afar, stay with and protect the people he cared about and receive the minimal amount of physical injury from. 

He could talk to Svetlana about reopening a brothel with him. 

They'd always been successful business partners, and he knew for a fact he was the best manager that Lana and her girls had ever had. He always made sure they were comfortable and respected by their clients, and took care of it when they weren't. He had strict policies on who was allowed to do what, along with when, where and how they could do it. The prices he'd charged were definitely lofty, but reasonable for the clientele he and Svetlana were searching for. 

He'd consider his options more later, though. Now he had to deal with the casualties of his fight with Ian. He hoped it wouldn't be hard to mend it, especially since he'd already accepted the fact that Ian was right. He was more than right, actually. 

The only thing Mickey would have a hard time getting over was that Ian had gone behind his back and actually found his police record. Granted, Mickey had never  _actually_ been hit with any tickets or charges other than parking tickets or public indecency. (He was caught pissing on a baseball field.) Sure the cops had found him suspicious and knew for a fact that he was up to no good, especially when he and Mason used to spend so much time together. They had no evidence of anything, though. He hoped Ian was happy with the lack of a record he found, since it seemed so important for him to know without bothering to ask Mickey at all. 

A moment later, he heard a shy knock at the door, and didn't answer. He looked up to see Mandy opening it hesitantly. "Hey, Mick... um..." she struggled with her words, obviously trying to figure out why there was so much yelling before. 

Suddenly, Lip's head popped up in the door over hers. "What did you do to make my brother so angry?" he asked, not sounding mad, just curious. 

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Can you guys actually fuck off? You know exactly why he's mad," he said, directing the last part at his sister. She shrugged a little and chewed the inside of her cheek. "Did he leave?" Mickey added softly. 

Lip nodded. "I don't think he'll go too far, though. He's too concerned with playing nurse for you," he admitted with a chuckle. "He'll be back. It doesn't matter how pissed he is- when he really cares he comes back."

With that, he grabbed Mandy's hand and pulled her away, closing Mickey's bedroom door behind them. He groaned again, already feeling remorseful about not only being inducted after telling Ian he wouldn't be, but for acting like it wasn't that big of a deal as well. 

He knew of course that it was, but he definitely found that by treating things as though they weren't an issue, they usually ended up not affecting you that broadly. He supposed that's not the way the world works, and that's  _definitely_ not the way a relationship works. 

So he waited it out, laying carefully back on the bed while Ian calmed down wherever he went. He stared up at the ceiling as he contemplated how he should approach the whole situation. After all, he wanted to make up as quickly as possible, since knowing Ian was mad at him made it feel like he had heartburn and an ulcer at the same time. Suddenly, though, his mind started wandering to what Ian was doing- where he had gone. 

It wasn't exactly safe for him to be out and about, especially when it was dark out. The night time is when Mason, Rossi  _and_ Damion were out, and if Ian had pissed off that many mobsters, there were probably a couple more who wouldn't mind offing him. He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up so he could stand. 

Once he was warily on his feet, he started towards the door, gasping when it opened just as he reached for it. Ian stood on the other side, a stressed line between his brows and a determined look on his face as he closed the door behind him. 

"Look, Ian, I-" he was cut off as Ian's hands seized either side of his face and kissed him hard. After the shock passed, he kissed back, taking Ian's wrist in his hand and holding it in place. He almost felt like crying with relief; a small part of him was worried that Ian would be kidnapped or killed, but another one was scared that it would all be too much for the ginger. That the mafia and the crime and the injuries would send him running for the hills. 

By the time he pulled away, Mickey was so dizzy he was seeing stars and kept a firm hand on Ian's wrist. He seemed to get the message and wrapped a sturdy arm around Mickey's waist to keep him upright. 

He looked between Mickey's lips and eyes before settling on the latter. "I know it seems like I'm attacking you because of this, and- and like I don't have any sympathy or understanding for this, but I do. I promise, I do, Mick, I get it and I wish there were something I could do to fix it. The fact that I can't... that it's too late to do anything about it, though is what's getting to me. There's nothing left for either of us or anyone to do to get you out of this. For the rest of your life! So yes, I'm furious about it all. I'm furious with you, with Rossi, with Mason, with fucking Al Capone!" He laughed and rested his forehead against Mickey's. "But that doesn't mean I want anything other than to be here with you."

Mickey moved his hand to Ian's jaw and closed his eyes, trying to gather enough energy to focus. He wanted to apologize for everything he'd ever done, said or thought that could affect Ian in a negative way. But his mouth couldn't form the words; he swallowed thickly and just savored the closeness. He and Ian were mostly flush, aside from his fucking slinged arm resting between them. 

He angled his head to kiss Ian again, far more softly this time. He tried his damnedest to keep the pace slow and sweet, but this time, however, Ian seemed to be craving something far different. 

He started biting at Mickey's lip and kissing more passionately before reaching down and gripping Mickey's ass. He pulled away a little and laughed, looking up at Ian in silent question. 

He looked conflicted, worried and turned on all at once. He made a noise that conveyed an internal struggle that made Mickey laugh before finally saying, "I know it's awful, okay? So just... don't judge me, but..."

He bit his lip and scrunched his nose, obviously having a hard time. "Gallagher, just fucking spill," Mickey finally said gently. 

"I find the whole mobster thing really really hot, which is the  _worst_ thing I could possibly find it, because it makes me really fucking angry, but fuck, baby, when you're in that pinstripe suit or loading a gun or even threatening someone it's actually incredible how sexy it is," he finally admitted, speaking a mile a minute. Throughout the entire confession, a smug smile had been growing on Mickey's face. 

"Oh, wise guy, huh? Maybe I should-a, tustle ya," Mickey said with a Brooklyn accent before adding in a normal voice, "Like that kind of a threat?"

"I will actually leave you right now," he replied, unable to stop the laughter in his voice before Mickey cut him off with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all really thought ian was gonna be chill af like that  
> nah b   
> he's spittin truth   
> anyways  
> i thought i'd end the chapter cute, since i've given you quite a few cliffhangers in the past  
> you can bet your ass their kinks are about to get REAL   
> hot DAMN  
> okay please comment since i only got like TWO on the last chapter  
> to be fair i just updated that one but still!!  
> okay i love you all more than life itself   
> i'll update soon <3


	27. Chapter 27

The rest of the week flew by in a blur, with Mickey and Ian practically refusing to address the time bomb that now was Mickey's life as a mobster. Lip ended up leaving on Thursday, and he took Mandy with him, unsurprisingly. The two seemed to be inseparable for the few days they'd known one another and according to Mandy he was easily in her top five lays. 

Mickey had been on edge the whole week, impatiently and anxiously waiting for a phone call or a text from anyone in the Outfit. However, he wasn't contacted by Rossi until Saturday, and when he answered the phone, he was laying on the couch, Ian passed out on top of him while he watched The Office. 

"Hello?" he answered gruffly, stroking his hand through Ian's hair absentmindedly and balancing the phone between his good shoulder and his ear. 

"Milkovich! How the fuck are you doin'?" he asked, sounding suspiciously chipper. 

Mickey cleared his throat, "I'm alright, Rossi. What can I do for you?" 

Rossi started laughing, "You're always so professional, kid, I like that about you. I need you to do me a favor, Milkovich."

"Yeah, what do you need?" he asked, shifting his hand to massage Ian's scalp. He made a little noise and nuzzled into Mickey's chest sleepily. He smiled fondly in response, continuing to stroke his head. 

"Well... as you may know, Mason was shot in the leg a few weeks ago. Well, he's a dramatic little pussy and can't pick something up for me," he said, and Mickey rolled his eyes. Rossi was gonna make him go pick up drugs. "Do you think you could swing by Sam for me and grab three ounces of coke? I'll pay you back when you drop it off, and I'll throw in a little extra for you and your boyfriend to go out," he chuckled at the end of his sentence. 

Three ounces!? That's a fuck ton of coke. "Three ounces? That's like... four thousand dollars, man," Mickey said incredulously. "Alright, though, I can do that. When do you need it by?"

"ASAP, kid," he said quickly. "Bring it to the main house."

Mickey rubbed a hand over his face. "Alright, I can get it in like. An hour and a half if Sam is home. Also, I'm straight. I don't have a boyfriend," he tried to clarify and Ian snickered on his chest, pressing a kiss to his bare chest. He ran his fingers gently over Ian's back to acknowledge that he knew he was awake. 

"Oh please, Milkovich, I can smell the gay on you from a mile away," he scoffed. "Plus I know all about when you and Mason were together."

Mickey snorted, "Is that what he told you? Mason and I weren't together." Ian sighed heavily, moving so his chin rested on Mickey's chest now and he could look at his boyfriend. 

"He also told me you wouldn't admit your feelings for him or kiss him," he added, and Mickey's eyebrows drew close together. "He said you'd come and fuck him and leave, but he could see that you loved him."

"Loved him!? Oh, please, I barely even liked him. His dick was mediocre and did he mention I don't have any interest in kissing anyone? Especially not Mason." he scoffed, rolling his eyes. Ian raised an eyebrow and pressed another kiss to his chest, earning a wink from Mickey. "You know what? Why are we even having this conversation? I'm straight and I'll get your shit for you."

Rossi cackled loudly on the other end, but didn't say anything so Mickey hung up the phone and tossed it onto the floor. He groaned loudly and covered his eyes with his right hand. 

"Rossi?" Ian asked, tilting his head to the side. Mickey simply nodded and the ginger reached up to trace patterns on his broad chest. "So... you don't have any interest in kissing anyone?"

Mickey nodded, moving his hand so he could look at Ian. "You got that right."

Ian nodded, shifting so he was sitting up on Mickey's hips, "Yeah, I get that kinda vibe from you, baby."

"What can I say, I've never really gotten the urge to kiss someone before," he shrugged, running his hand up Ian's thigh. "Don't think I'm really missing out on much, though."

Ian nodded. "Right, right. So... before this conversation, there was no one you had wanted to, um... kiss before?" he asked, looking down at Mickey and chewing on his lip. 

"Bitch, you know Lana already told you I had a rule about kissing people," he said, breaking away from the playful little game they had going on. He started scooting up so that he was sitting, since he needed to leave soon, but Ian didn't make a move to change his position. 

"I know," he smirked, trailing his fingers down Mickey's chest. "I just like hearing you say it."

Mickey rolled his eyes and sucked on his teeth before looking up at Ian. "Fine. I never wanted to kiss anyone before I met you," he admitted, raising his eyebrows and urging Ian to make the next move. 

He smiled widely, and Mickey decided that being embarrassed was worth it to see that look on Ian's face. He simply raised an eyebrow again, and tilted his head back, waiting for Ian to get the hint and kiss him already. 

Instead, he stood up and removed himself from Mickey's lap, already walking back to their bedroom. 

"Gallagher- what- where the fuck is my kiss at!?" he yelled after Ian, who rounded the corner again and looked at Mickey, obviously stifling a smile. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you meant you wanted to kiss me," he chuckled. "You should really clarify that," he said with a shrug, leaning over the arm of the couch, where Mickey was sitting and kissed him quickly. He pulled away almost the exact moment their lips touched and started walking away again. 

This time, Mickey rolled his eyes and grabbed Ian's writs, wrenching him back roughly. "Why are you so fucking obnoxious all the goddamn time?" he grumbled, and Ian shrugged innocently, opening his mouth to say something before Mickey tugged him forward hard. He lost balance and practically fell into Mickey's lap, unable to even gasp before he was kissed. 

He chuckled against Mickey's teeth, shifting so he was straddling him instead of laying haphazardly over his lap. After a moment or two of playing hard to get, Ian kissed back, running his tongue along the roof of Mickey's mouth. He raised his hands to frame Mickey's face and tilt his head back to get a better angle at his lips. 

Mickey practically melted under Ian's touch, willing to let him do whatever he damn well pleased. God knows he would like whatever the ginger decided to do anyways. He brought a hand around from the back of Mickey's neck to the front, getting a hold on it but not squeezing enough to really do anything. 

Just the feel of Ian's fingers around his throat had him panting. He slid his hand from the redhead's arm to his back, pressing him forward so he shifted even closer to Mickey. The friction his movement caused had the dark haired man practically scrambling to find some part of Ian to actually hold with his one good arm. Instead of simply allowing Mickey to get a grip on him, Ian used his other hand to pin Mickey's right arm beside his head on the back of the couch. 

Practically immobile, Mickey groaned beneath Ian, tilting his head back even farther when the ginger squeezed his throat a little and pushed him into the couch harder. His lips were rough and hot on Mickey's, a mixture of teeth and tongue causing Mickey to work hard at continuing to breathe. He had no idea how he'd gone twenty three years of his life without feeling this way when he was kissed. In all honesty, no one had gotten him this worked up when they were actually in the process of having sex, much less without even laying a hand on his dick. 

He'd never even considered letting himself be choked, and even less enjoying it. And yet, here Mickey was with Ian's grip on his neck tightening and all he could do was arch off the couch and kiss his stupid boyfriend, doing all he could not to get too dizzy. How he was even surprised by this type of shit anymore was beyond him, but he at least thought there were limits as to the new things Ian would do to him that he would like. He was an idiot. 

After one more shockingly soft kiss, he pulled away from Mickey, dropping his hands. "Well, you better get going, then," Ian said matter-of-factly as he stood up from his place in Mickey's lap. 

Mickey was unable to respond for a few moment, lifting his right hand to rake it through his surely disheveled hair. His chest rose and fell rapidly and he let his head fall back on the couch behind him. "Fuck you, Gallagher," he breathed and Ian laughed in response, reaching out a hand to help Mickey up from the couch. He accepted, using his boyfriend's strength to lift him. 

"Guess you feel a little different about kissing now, then, huh?" Ian asked smugly, touching his teeth with his tongue. 

Mickey rolled his eyes and pushed past him to get to the bedroom. "Fuck off," he said, although they both knew it was half hearted. 

He shuffled through his dresser drawers haphazardly, grabbing shit and throwing it on his bed lazily. Ian eventually made his way directly behind Mickey and took his hips in his hands, kissing down his neck. 

"If you wanted to keep it going, you shouldn't have gotten up, Gallagher, I actually gotta go," he said, feeling the professional part of him shifting into gear. He told Rossi he'd be there in an hour and a half, and if he didn't, he would undoubtedly get into trouble. In fact, he was almost certain that Gustavo was high right now, and wanted the coke more for himself than anything else. If he didn't show up quickly, he would most likely get violent and Mickey really didn't want to have to deal with that. 

Ian pressed his hips and his fairly obvious hard on into Mickey's, and he rolled his eyes. "But do you have to leave right this second?" he asked, dragging his lips along Mickey's neck, where his hickeys were finally fading. He'd had to yell at Ian earlier in the week when he'd bitten him again about just how unprofessional bruises all over his neck looked. 

"Yes, Gallagher, you literally had your shot two fucking minutes ago, now I have to leave," he said, using his single hand to grab the dress pants he'd thrown only moments ago and try to step into them. Ian let his teeth touch Mickey's neck as he did so, and ran his tongue along the spot between his neck and shoulder. "Ian," he warned, doing a little shimmy to get the waistband up over his ass. The ginger bit lightly down on the pale flesh before kissing back up Mickey's neck. He reached around and buttoned his pants for him since it was nearly impossible to do so with one hand. 

"Can I at least have a kiss before you go?" he asked, and when Mickey turned around and saw the pout he had on his face, he rolled his eyes. 

He took a deep breath before reaching up and shrugging painfully out of his sling. He tossed it on the bed and picked up a black button up, looking to Ian for help. He simply raised an eyebrow and wore a teasing grin. Mickey sighed and leaned up to kiss him quickly, then handed him the shirt. Still donning the smile, he guided Mickey's arm into the sleeve and buttoned the shirt for him, not breaking eye contact. 

Finally, Mickey handed him the grey tie he would be wearing and flipped up his collar. Watching Ian tie it for him was an unsurprising turn on for him, and he had to use every ounce of self control he had not to shove Ian back on the bed. When he finished, Ian tugged him forward by the tie, pressing his lips down hard on Mickey's mouth. He couldn't help the moan that escaped him as he kissed back and squeezed Ian's ass before attempting to pull back. Ian didn't allow it though, simply following Mickey's movements and wrapping an arm around his back to keep him from actually leaving. 

"Ian," he said against his mouth, still kissing him between his rational thoughts. "I gotta... go," he said, parting his lips and touching Ian's tongue with his own. Ian groaned and walked forward, pushing Mickey back until his back hit the wall. He hissed in a breath at the pain it sent down his arm, but kept Ian's head in place with his right hand. 

"Do we have time to-"

Mickey nodded, moaning a little as Ian pressed his hips forward. "I'll fucking make time," he conceded, letting himself get lost in Ian yet again. 

They stumbled to the bed, Ian scrambling to rid Mickey of the dress pants he'd just made an effort of getting him into. In the meantime, he had Mickey's hand keeping his head down to keep kissing him. Once they reached the bed, the darker haired man fell onto his back, grunting at the pain in his arm. 

"You good?" Ian asked distractedly as he brought Mickey's boxers down from his hips and tossed them onto the floor. He nodded, fisting Ian's hair as he took Mickey's dick into his mouth without any warning. 

"Fuck, Gallagher!" he gasped, arching off the bed and wincing. This whole gunshot wound thing was really a bitch. He could barely remember it was there, though, as Ian swallowed around him and started bobbing his head, keeping his hair in the ginger mop. A few blissful moments later, Mickey felt the redhead's fingers nearing his lips and he opened his mouth, taking them between his lips and sucking on them. He didn't know why he felt the overwhelming urge to do so, or why Ian seemed to want him to as well, but he groaned around Mickey and curled his fingers a little. 

After a few seconds, he brought his hand back and put his now wet fingers at Mickey's entrance. After realizing what Ian's intentions were, he moaned and tightened his grip on his hair, his breath catching and Ian's fingers slid into him. 

He really didn't need Ian to "warm him up" before they fucked, he'd had plenty of experience doing the do without, but he found that he didn't hate it. The sole purpose Ian did it was to make Mickey more comfortable and to make his experience more enjoyable. The thought seemed to turn him on even more, and he pulled Ian's head up, nodding at him from where his head was laying back on the pillow. 

Ian removed his fingers and climbed up Mickey's body, kissing his lips firmly and licking into his mouth slowly. 

"Look, I need you to hurry the fuck up, okay?" Mickey mumbled into his lips, feeling the movement of his boyfriend's hands as he lubed himself up.

"Mickey, have you never heard of foreplay?" he asked, kissing him again. When he pulled away, he raised an eyebrow at Mickey, who rolled his eyes. He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under Mickey's hips carelessly. "You asked for it," Ian smirked, and he practically felt his heart leap from its chest. 

Only a moment later, he was sliding into Mickey slowly, and he groaned, already arching off the bed. After a few experimental thrusts, his pace picked up and grew rougher. His hand made its way to Mickey's throat, and the other to his cock. Instead of just resting his hand on the darker man's throat, he actually put pressure on the sides, and Mickey started breathing heavier, more turned on than he thought possible. 

As though someone had turned up Ian's intensity, his thrusts grew harder again and his grip on Mickey's throat tightened to the point where it was almost painful, but not that he couldn't breathe. When his moans grew hot and needy, he seemed to realize that Mickey was approaching his climax. His head dropped to the bed next to Mickey's and when he came into Ian's hand, he let his neck go. 

Mickey couldn't help shouting a strained, "Fuck!" as he came and a head rush exploded through him at the same time as he reached his climax. He thought the best part of Ian choking him would be the actual choking- the mental aspect of being held down and dominated by someone because of how much he trusted him. But with the addition of one of the best fucking orgasms he had ever experienced, he figured there wouldn't be another time he didn't want Ian's fingers around his neck. 

The ginger pulled out slowly a few hot seconds later, both men panting heavily. He collapsed on the bed beside Mickey and leaned over to kiss his shoulder softly. 

Mickey barely laid still for two seconds before he sat up, with more difficulty than he'd care to admit. "Well, see you later, babe," he sighed, pushing himself up from the bed. "Can you help me?"

"You can't just sit for ten damn minutes and have post sex cuddling with your boyfriend?" Ian asked, sounding irritated. 

The darker haired man looked over and rolled his eyes at how dramatic the ginger was. "I shouldn't have even taken ten minutes to let my boyfriend fuck me," he informed him, doing the best he could to dress himself. 

Ian smirked a little and moved to help him dress. "I like it when you call me your boyfriend," he admitted, helping Mickey dress without dressing himself. 

"I like it when you choke me," he said dryly as Ian buttoned his shirt. 

He scoffed in response, "Oh I can tell." Mickey's jaw dropped a little and he had the audacity to look appalled that Ian would even suggest such a thing. "Please! Like you aren't obvious with your moaning and your panting and the little whimpering noises you ma-"

"Stop! That's enough, thanks for the examples," he shook his head, stepping into his pants and grunting a little when Ian pulled him forward roughly by the waistband. 

He looked down at Mickey's lips, licking his own. He leaned down and kissed him softly, buttoning the pants as he did so. "Please be safe today," he whispered, their lips still touching. 

Mickey simply nodded as Ian finished getting him dressed. They walked to the door together after, and Mickey rejected the sling his boyfriend tried to hand him. "I don't need it anymore," he said, running a hand through his hair. 

"It's been four days," Ian deadpanned, raising an eyebrow. "Wear the fucking sling."

Mickey raised an eyebrow, touching his tongue to his teeth playfully. "Or what?"

"Or I won't kiss you for a week," he said matter of factly. 

Mickey scoffed, reaching for the door knob. "Yeah, okay," he said sarcastically, leaning up to kiss the readhead, who kissed back without a moment's hesitation. "That's what I thought."

"Whatever. Get the fuck out of here so you can get the fuck back," he replied, pushing Mickey out of the door. "Bye, baby," he said, leaning on the doorframe.

Mickey winked, "See you later. Love y-" he stopped himself short, shaking his head a little. Ian raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at his lips as he tilted his head to the side. 

"Love...?" he repeated, urging Mickey to finish. 

Mickey swallowed. There was no way he was going to admit that to Ian, admitting that after two and a half months was pretty soon in his opinion even for mentally stable people. Plus he wasn't going to be the first to do it. 

"Love... unicorns," he nodded, deciding that confessing his love for a mythical creature was less embarrassing that admitting it to Ian. 

"Oh, see I didn't peg you as one to be into unicorns," Ian shrugged. "Pretty gay, though, I shouldn't be too surprised."

Mickey rolled his eyes and gave Ian one more kiss. "Fuck off, goodbye," he grumbled, speed walking down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo yo yo babes how you doin  
> sorry i'm a little late i know this was a little bit of a filler, but i thought it would be nice to have some domestic mickey and ian you feel  
> the next chapter is tbd, im not gonna lie, im not positive which direction this will go in  
> i love you all though  
> please please comment i actually LOVED reading all of them last chapter   
> <3 i'll update soon!


	28. Chapter 28

The drive to Sam's house was short and sweet with no road complications. He parked haphazardly in front of the house and hopped out, locking the door since the house wasn't exactly in a trustworthy neighborhood. He mad his way to the door quickly and tried to use his left hand to ring the bell. It was painful and he felt his face shifting into a grimace, but he managed it. 

Mickey stood impatiently on the porch outside the back door and heard clamoring from the other side just before the screen door flew open. 

"Mickey!" Sam burst happily, his eyes glazed over and smile wide. "What are you doing here, man? It's been forever!" 

In reality, they'd seen one another a few weeks ago at Rossi's house, but it was obscenely clear that Sam wasn't exactly of sound mind at the moment. "I need to pick some shit up for Rossi, if you have it," he said professionally, running a hand through his hair. Sam nodded and opened the other door for Mickey to grab. 

"Of course, man, of course! I didn't know Rossi had you doing house calls," he laughed, leading Mickey upstairs right away. "But of course, you gotta do what he tells you now, right? I heard you're part of the big M now. Congrats!"

Mickey scoffed and tried his hardest not to make a face when he smelled the unmistakable fumes of a meth lab. After being in Sam's house so many damn times, one would think he'd be used to the pungent scent, but alas, it was basically torture to his nostrils. 

"Oh yeah, thanks for the sentiment," he chuckled. If there was anyone Mickey could be real with and not have to worry about any repercussions of telling things to, it was Sam. Sure he could talk to both Mandy and Ian, but they would do the job of reminding Mickey of morals  _and_ weighing in with their own personal beliefs and advice. Sam, though, was usually too high to remember the conversation and was so happy go lucky that he would support basically anyone's decision to do anything. 

He turned to look at Mickey with a knowing grin on his face. "Someone is a little reluctant about their new title?" he asked, gesturing for Mickey to close the door behind him. Despite the fact that Sam was a successful drug dealer and cooked crystal meth for a living, Mickey was pretty sure he either went to college or was still  _in_ college, so his sentence structure was often a little too advanced for his personal profession. 

Mickey shrugged indifferently, scrunching his nose in pain. "I mean, I never really asked for it. I didn't expect it at the beginning either, but more and more lately I've been able to tell that it was gonna happen," he explained, leaning against the wall and watching as Sam hopped up onto the counter. The room they were in would normally be a kitchen in anyone else's house, but in this one it definitely doubled as a weight room- there were scales on practically every surface, along with little bags filled with the substance of your choice. "I didn't want it, either.  _Don't_ want it. But I can't complain, I guess. Mason would kill for my position, so," he shrugged again. 

Sam nodded in understanding, lifting what looked like a cup of coffee to his lips and drinking. "I understand. You start out with an innocent favor for a friend and suddenly you're in so deep there's practically no way to get out alive. It's a shitty reality, but one that everyone in the game has to come to terms with eventually," he said, his wisdom really astounding for his position. 

"Yeah... well, anyways, Rossi wants-"

"Three ounces?" Sam asked, setting the mug down and sighing. "That's been his usual lately," he said, rolling his eyes. 

Mickey nodded, reaching into his back pocket for the huge fucking wad of cash he'd been carrying around. "Yep, that'd be it," he confirmed. "Do you know what he does with all of it? He can't use  _all_ of that up so quickly and I don't think he deals."

Sam practically burst out laughing, shuffling through a bunch of bags he had to the left of a particularly large scale. "Please, Rossi deals. That's something you're gonna have to get used to, Milkovich. Everyone deals. Everyone," he said, his back to Mickey still.  _"But_ technically what a customer does with their product after they buy it from me shouldn't concern me," he added when he turned back with a bag in his hand. "Did he pay you already?" Mickey shook his head, taking out the stack of cash, ready to count it and hand it over. "He's gonna pay you back?"

"That's what he told me at least," he shrugged. "But I believe him."

Sam smiled, handing the bag over. "I'll give it to you for thirty-six hundred. Tell him it was forty-two," he winked. 

"You sure, man?" he asked, tilting his head to the side a little. 

"Of course, Mickey. You and I have a lot in common, you know. Neither of us were looking to be a part of this and we are now. If we can make a couple bucks off it, why not?" he shrugged, a sad smile gracing his attractive features. 

Mickey nodded, counting the money and handing it over. "Thank you, Sam," he nodded, tucking the bag into his suit coat and reaching out his right hand to shake Sam's. He took it and smiled at Mickey again. 

"Alright, get the fuck out of here and back to your boyfriend before it gets dark out," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. Mickey opened his mouth to protest the 'boyfriend' part and Sam shook his head. "I know these things."

Mickey rolled his eyes, unable to keep the smile from his face. After one more appreciative nod, he turned and practically booked it down the staircase, eager as usual to get away from the scent. Once he reached the car, he sighed, letting his head rest back against the seat. Sam  _was_ undeniably similar to him- and he was pretty sure that Sam being a made man hadn't really affected his personality much. That being said, he'd heard tales of him being ruthless and cruel to people who hadn't paid him back or who wronged him in some way. A different Capo had sponsored Sam when they recommended he become a made man, so he had to turn in his money to someone that Mickey suspected was a little less lenient. 

So, just as he'd suspected, he needed to find another side job to rake in some money from. As he pulled away from the curb, he fished his phone from his pocket and found the contact he'd added for Svetlana after they'd left Milwaukee. He chewed his lip in anticipation, praying that she was in favor of his idea to team up again. 

Finally, after careful contemplation, he pressed the call button and raised the phone to his ear, listening to the mocking ringing noise emitting from the speaker. He flicked his blinker on, after momentarily forgetting that he a fuck ton of cocaine on his person and needed to be a careful driver. 

"Hello?" the familiar Russian accent asked. 

"Hey, Lana, it's Mickey. How's it going?" he asked, clearing his throat a little. He could see her suspicious face in his head at the phone call and smirked a little at the thought. 

She hummed a little. "It is going. What you need, Mikhailo?" she asked, cutting the crap right away. 

"I want to reopen the Rub n Tug," he said, just coming out with the request quickly to get it over with. 

She sighed deeply, and the breath turned into a laugh. "I knew you would come back," she said matter of factly. 

"Do you want to? I would manage again, obviously, and maybe you could finally stop doing the dirty work and help-"

She cut him off before he could continue down that path. "Mikhailo. Dirty work is what I do. Is what I'm good at- you? You are good at managing, so you manage. I am good at sex, so I have sex. You do not need to worry about me," she tried to reassure him and he rolled his eyes, turning onto the main road that would take him directly to Rossi's house. 

He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes a little. "I know, but I'm still gonna worry either way, you know that. I always worry about people treating you like shit," he groaned, conflicted. "You don't deserve that and we both know it."

"Your orange little boyfriend makes you so soft, Mikhailo," she laughed fondly. 

"Yeah, whatever," he rolled his eyes. "Does that mean you're on board?"

Svetlana took in a loud breath and let it out even louder. "I guess so. We talk more about it later, I am with client right now," she admitted. "I call you in morning, yes?"

"Sure, Lana," he chuckled, shaking his head. She hung up without another word, going back to whatever old, limp-dicked motherfucker she was banging.

If they opened the brothel again, that would be a pretty steady stream of income, depending on where they made the location. He wouldn't have to do much except make sure the environment was clean and safe, then make sure the clients didn't fuck with his girls- or boys. They'd never had guys at the old Rub n Tug, but with the increase in gay mobsters he seemed to be stumbling across, perhaps that would increase revenue. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he pulled up in front of Rossi's house. He had to take a deep breath to prepare himself to go inside since it was incredibly likely that Mason would be there. After a few moments of attempting to meditate, Mickey turned the car off and rubbed his eyes, groaning loudly. 

Reluctantly, he got out of the car and locked it behind him, swaggering across the street with faux confidence. When he reached the door, he didn't know if he was supposed to knock or not, so he tapped it a few times with his knuckles, trying to look apathetic. 

Moments later, the door opened to reveal Mason with a strange, sort of spastic grin on his face. "Hey, Mickey! How's the life of a made man?" he asked, obviously suppressing laughter. 

He raised an eyebrow, skirting past the weird man who seemed to be having a breakdown before him. "Um... it's pretty nice," he confessed- nothing had really happened except for getting $600 practically for free, not to mention whatever 'extra' Rossi was gonna pitch in for Mickey. "How's being an associate?"

He snorted a little, still burying laughter. "Oh, man, it's just... it's just great. You can't be-" he cut himself off with a laugh and shook his head. "-can't be trusted with the same shit as a soldier."

"So I hear," Mickey replied, confusion evident on his face. Was Mason already high?

Their weird, uncomfortable and confusing conversation was cut off seconds later by Rossi clearing his throat. "Milkovich! An hour and a half my ass, you made it in one," he laughed, reaching out his right hand to shake Mickey's. He didn't know how he'd made it early when he'd used damn near twenty minutes of it to make out with and have sex with his boyfriend. 

"Well, you know me," he shrugged, shaking Gustavo's hand heartily. "Always trying to be efficient."

"I do know you," he grinned, pointing at Mickey playfully and winking. "That's why you're my go-to guy when I need someone I can trust."

He forced a grin and reached into his suit coat, pulling out the bag of coke and handing it to his boss. "Sam said the usual- forty-two hundred," he lied, a little surprised at how smoothly it came out when he knew he'd be murdered if Rossi found out. 

"Right!" he clapped, digging into his pocket and removing a thick folded stack of cash. The life of a mobster, man. "Here's forty five- do something fun with the other three," he said with a wink, and Mickey made sure he didn't even look at the money before stuffing it into his pocket so he didn't come off as disrespectful. 

"Thank you, sir," he nodded and Rossi rolled his eyes, always amused by Mickey's manners. 

He turned around and started looking through a stack of papers. "Now, down to business," he said as he searched through them. "Mason, get," he commanded as though he were speaking to a dog. Mickey glanced over and saw him biting his lips to hide his smile as he turned around and fled, an irritatingly prominent limp in his step. "What a pussy," Rossi muttered as he turned back to the papers and Mickey chuckled in response. 

"What business?" he asked, leaning against the table as he waited. 

He finally picked up a picture from the stack and turned back to Mickey. "I need you to take care of something for me. Something Mason couldn't seem to do," he said, reaching up and loosening his tie. "As you may recall, there was  a bit of a... dispute between a friend of mine and a Mr. Damion Larson."

Immediately Mickey's head snapped to the side to look directly at Rossi and his whole body involuntarily went rigid. "I remember," he admitted, speaking through his teeth. 

 _"Well,_ Damion continues to give me shit about it, often giving me backhanded comments or threatening to out me to the Commission- despite the fact that I could do the same for him," he sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "Now, I would love nothing more than to have you get out there and pop the guy,  _however_ he is a part of the Outfit, and I would need Commission approval," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "There's no reasonable explanation for him to be killed according to them if I tell them about Curtis and the fact that he's harassing me about him."

Mickey shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sorry, so where do I play into this?"

"Well, I figure one of us has to be the bigger person," he confesses, tossing the picture onto the table for Mickey to see. 

Just as he'd suspected, it was a nearly naked picture of his boyfriend. Ian was in a bed sitting cross legged with the sheets bunched up around his hips. He had a smile on his face and was reaching forward in what looked like an attempt to get the camera from someone's hands. Mickey swallowed thickly and felt his pulse start to speed up. He clenched his fist at his side so the adrenaline wouldn't make his hands shake. 

"This is Curtis, you met him- briefly- I think. Anyways, he's the reason for the dispute between Damion and I. Prior to him, the two of us got along quite well, even doing business together once in a while. But Curtis came into the picture and now here we are- looking towards our soldier friends trying to kill one another," he laughed, sighing as though the whole situation were a fucking joke. "So I propose we turn this into a Soloman situation and just cut the baby in half- you know what I'm getting at?" 

Mickey's left eyebrow was so high at that point his forehead almost hurt. "You want me to  _cut_ the kid in  _half?"_ he asked slowly, almost unable to keep his voice steady as his throat began to close. "That's some fucked up shit, Rossi."

"No! Milkovich, do you know  _why_ Soloman suggested the baby be cut in half?" he asked, sounding amused. Mickey felt anything but amusement, as though he were going to throw up, actually. He shook his head. "Well, there were two women who claimed this baby was theirs, and they went into court and Soloman said they could each get a half. One of the women agreed that sounded fair, and the other said no, if they keep the baby alive the other woman can have it," he explained, and Mickey was still at a loss. 

He shook his head, swallowing again. He tried desperately to calm himself. "I don't get it."

"I'm going to tell Curtis that you're going to kill the boy so that neither of us has to worry about him anymore- maybe I'll offer him a body part so that it seems more believable. Anyways, if he really likes the little fucker, then he'll say that I can have him if we keep him alive," he smiled, tilting his head to the side a little. "Makes sense, right?"

Mickey's jaw went slack a little and he shook his head again. "What if he says that sounds like a good idea?" he asked. 

"Then I guess you should just kill him and make this whole thing a little easier on all of us," he shrugged and snorted. Mickey felt as though he'd been punched in the gut, but stiffened himself trying to hide it. 

"And, um... why don't you just let Damion have him if he disagrees? Don't you care about... Curtis enough that you want him alive? Even if he's, you know, with someone else?" Mickey asked, rocking back on his heels a bit. 

Rossi shrugged a bit and reached into his pocket, producing a card. He watched silently as the Capo dug into the bag of cocaine and started setting up lines on the table with his card. Moments later, he pulled out what looked like a straw- also from his pocket, strangely- and snorted a line right in front of Mickey. He sniffed a bit before looking back to the soldier. "I care about the kid, sure, he's sweet and funny and a dynamite lay-" he could say that again. "-but not enough to see him fucking Damion. He said himself that Damion didn't mean anything to him and was just some fling he had a long time ago, you heard that right? He wants  _me,"_ he sighed, doing another line quickly. "Shit that's good!"

Mickey licked his lips, scouring for anything he could say that would change Rossi's mind or convince him that this was a very  _very_ bad idea. "Well, didn't he say last time he was here that he had to... help his family or some shit? And that's why he couldn't be with you?" he asked, hoping that he could spark a little bit of wisdom into the man's head. "So really, wouldn't it work out that he doesn't end up with either one of you?"

"Well if neither of us gets him, you could just off him," he said, rolling his eyes. "Just spare us all the drama." That made Mickey flinch, and this time Rossi seemed to notice it. "You a little jumpy, Milkovich? Wanna do a line or two?" he asked, gesturing to the few lines he had set up with his straw. 

Mickey started shaking his head before he stopped short. "That would be fantasic," he confessed, and although he knew it was a very bad decision, he needed something,  _anything,_ to get him out of his right mind at that moment. He'd barely been involved for a week and now they were talking to him about murdering his fucking boyfriend. 

He swallowed thickly and watched as Rossi got some more on the table. "You got it, kid, let me just set a few more up."

"You know..." Mickey reached out with trembling hands to take the card from him before pulling back. "If you set the coke up in a swirl, you'll get more while covering less surface area," he said, ashamed of himself for even knowing that trick. Rossi tilted his head to the side and started putting it in a swirling pattern, laughing a little. 

"Well I'll be damned!" he grinned, his eyes glazed over now. He handed the straw to Mickey, who took a deep before leaning down. He breathed in and followed the swirl with the straw, stopping after about halfway to take a breather. "Come on, Milkovich, you can finish that!" Rossi egged him on, and, desperate for some sort of distraction, he complied, finishing the swirl of white in a few moments. 

He sucked in a deep breath when he stood up straight again and blinked rapidly before sniffing once or twice. His right nostril and throat were filled with a familiar numbing sensation and he took a slower, calmer breath as the euphoria started to set in. 

"This Curtis kid can't be the only good fuck who can shake his ass at a strip club in Chicago, though," he argued, ready to continue the discussion despite the fact that he was starting to feel like a million bucks. The pain in his arm began to subside and he wondered why he hadn't done cocaine in so fucking long. 

Rossi shrugged, sniffing a little. "You're not wrong there, Milkovich," he chuckled. "This one is... different, though," he confessed, tilting his head to the side. "You met him. He's got a personality on him- gumption, you know? He's not helpless."

Mickey nodded- he knew exactly what Rossi was talking about. Everything he was saying were the reasons Mickey fell for the ginger in the first place. Among other things neither Rossi nor Damion had had the privilege of experiencing, thankfully. "I guess so," he shrugged. 

"Anyways, something's gotta happen with him. I'll let you know when I want you to do something. Try to figure out where he is, though, I haven't heard from him in a few weeks- take his picture for reference," he said, sliding the photo closer to Mickey, who started to panic again. 

He fucking knew this would happen. 

"If you still look this concerned, you obviously aren't high enough, kid," he laughed, patting Mickey on the back and handing him the straw again. 

After a few more snorts, he bid Rossi goodbye, forgetting the whole reason he'd been so scared in the first place as he drove home. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so...   
> that happened  
> i love you guys....??? a LOT I PROMISE   
> it will all work out, please please comment thoughts?   
> this was a very heavy chapter, so i'll try to update soon to soothe our hearts soon lmao  
> okay love you! <3


	29. Chapter 29

After a particularly humorous drive home, Mickey stumbled out of the car and down the hallway to his apartment. As he neared the door, he crinkled his nose and sniffed a few times, high as a motherfucker with a still numbed nose. 

Somehow, he managed to get the door open and the second he shut the door behind him he shouted, "Honey, I'm home!" 

Ian's head poked out of the bedroom, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. "Mick?" he asked, concern seeping into his words. 

Mickey stripped himself of his suit coat, already unbuttoning his shirt before he had finished shimmying it off. He felt practically nothing from the gunshot wound- the coke was probably cut with Novocaine. He smiled, unable to keep laughter from bubbling out of him. The last few lines had definitely pushed him over the edge- he had practically no clue what was happening other than the fact that Ian was in front of him. 

"Oh my god, I missed you," he confessed, lifting his arms and winding them around Ian's neck. He pulled him down into a kiss, which Ian returned for a moment before pulling back. He studied Mickey's eyes intensely. 

"Are you high?" he asked, and moved his hands to frame the shorter man's face so he could study his pupils more closely. 

Mickey shook his head. "High on life, maybe," he said deadpan before bursting out laughing. He moved his hands to Ian's waist. "Hey, guess what?"

"What the fuck happened? Mickey, what did you take?" he asked, worry and a little bit of anger etched into his features. 

Mickey shook his head and shushed the ginger, pulling his hips closer. "No, you're supposed to guess," he whispered, hooking his fingers into Ian's waistband. When the redhead didn't respond right away, he shrugged out of his shirt and Ian gasped. 

"You ripped your fucking stitches!" he practically barked, dragging Mickey to the kitchen table, where he urged him to sit. "What did you take?" he asked, his tone commanding an answer. 

He didn't reply right away, and his eyes rolled back in his head a little as he reveled in the feel of the high. The only other time he'd felt this good is when he was fucking Ian. He hadn't found anything else that gave him the same uninhibited happiness and pleasure- he couldn't  _imagine_ having both at once. 

"Hey, I love you," Mickey said matter of factly, nodding when Ian's head shot up to look at him, still completely confused. "Just so you know," he shrugged, watching as Ian pulled a big first aid kit from under the sink and started shuffling through it. 

He tossed a few supplies on the table and returned to stand between Mickey's legs. "Was it coke? It looks like coke," he said, obviously fighting with all his might to keep his tone even. He struggled to get his shaking hands into a tight pair of latex gloves.

"Babe, can we just like...  _have sex_ ," he whispered the last part, "instead of this?"

Ian rolled his eyes and lifted a pair of medical scissors to the torn up wound, snipping the excess stitches away. "You're fucking lucky I was an EMT for a while," he shook his head, leaning forward to focus on getting the blood wiped up. "You fucking idiot."

"Why are you mad at me?" Mickey pouted, using his right hand to tug Ian closer by the waistband of his boxers. 

He scoffed, already stitching his boyfriend back up and chewing the inside of his cheek when Mickey didn't even flinch at the feel of the needle. "Because you make stupid fucking decisions," he growled, trying to focus on the task at hand while Mickey worked desperately to distract him. 

"I'm gonna protect you, okay?" he assured Ian, nodding his head. "They're gonna fight me, but I love you, so I'm gonna keep you safe. You don't have to worry about it."

Ian furrowed his eyebrows, tying the stitches off and wiping the wound off with an alcohol wipe. "Who's gonna fight you?" he asked steadily, shedding himself of the gloves and picking up gauze and medical tape. 

Mickey opened his mouth before stopping himself and laughing. "I can't tell you! You almost got me there, you know? You're sneaky," he snorted, sighing deeply after. 

As he finished dressing the fresh wound, Ian spoke softly, mostly to himself more than Mickey. "Well thankfully coke has a pretty short life, so you'll be spilling a lot more than 'I love you' in about an hour," he muttered, taking a step back once he was done. 

"No, come back," Mickey whined, reaching out to pull Ian back. He smacked his thigh and the dark haired man gasped. 

"Don't move that arm! I'm getting your sling, stay put," he commanded, shaking his head as he walked away. "Idiot."

Mickey swung his legs back and forth on the table, reaching up with his left hand to run it through his hair and wincing a little.  _Fuck._ If his arm was starting to hurt, that meant he was going to be coming down soon. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, praying that it would last longer. The last thing he wanted was to think about his meeting with Rossi- to feel like that again. He swallowed and tried to center himself, focusing on the parts of him that were obviously showing the high. His head, which was still light and buzzing, or his nostril and his throat, which were both still numb. His eyes were still heavy-lidded while simultaneously being wide awake and hyper aware. 

Ian returned a minute later, sling in hand. Mickey opened his eyes and smiled immediately upon seeing him. He allowed his boyfriend to get his arm into the sling, watching him with wide, loving puppy eyes. 

"You're so gorgeous," he sighed, chewing his lip. "I don't ever say it because that's gay- and I don't like to be gay- but you are," he nodded, studying Ian's face closely. "I should tell you that more often. I'm a bad boyfriend."

Ian rolled his eyes, simply urging Mickey to hop off of the kitchen table. "Let's get you to sleep this off, huh?" he asked, taking his hand as he lead him into their bedroom. Mickey tried to go for his gun safe almost immediately and Ian groaned, pulling him away and shoving him onto the mattress. "Get in the fucking bed," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

Once Mickey regained his footing and sat on the bed, he shot back, "And they say chivalry is dead."

Ian rolled his eyes, getting into bed next to him. They moved so they were laying side by side, Ian propped up so he could keep an eye on his boyfriend, who was high as a fucking kite. "I hope you know that we're going to be having a  _very_ intense and thorough discussion about this when you come down. You've got a free pass right now because you've got the intelligence and personality of, like, an eight year old, but in a few hours, you're getting a motherfucking earful," he seethed, shaking his head as he reached down and stroked Mickey's hair. 

"I like it when you do that," he said, sighing contently. 

The ginger scoffed and rolled his eyes again, surprised with how sarcastic he felt himself getting. "Of course you do," he replied. "You're not as slick and secretive as you think, Mickey."

He sighed and leaned over, wincing a little when his arm shifted at a painful angle and kissed Ian's bare chest. "So... before you decide to yell at me, could we...?" he asked, pursing his lips a little and looking up at Ian hopefully. 

"Just because you aren't of sound mind, doesn't mean that I'm not. You think I'm gonna fuck you when I'm this pissed at you?" he asked, eyebrows raised. 

Mickey shrugged and sat up anyways, using his free hand to work Ian's boxers down his legs. "You don't have to fuck me," he said, crawling over so he was sitting between the gingers legs. He started palming him almost immediately and raised an eyebrow when he reached out a hand to try and stop him. 

"Mickey, don't. Nothing you do to me is going to make me any less pissed at you," he warned, and Mickey completely ignored him, leaning down and taking Ian into his mouth. He hissed out a breath, fisting the dark head of hair. "Fuck you," he seethed, shaking his head against the pillow. 

Mickey was slowly starting to regain his wits, and knew just how angry Ian was with him without even knowing the full story. All he knew was that Mickey came home high as fuck, nothing really dangerous or scary. So he bobbed his head over Ian's shaft, swallowing over him and closing his eyes when the ginger groaned. As he sucked his boyfriend off, he tried desperately to grasp at any sense of reality. It was a weird sensation to wish to stay high when you  _were_ high, and then to pray for sobriety when you had a small sense of it. 

It would be so easy for him to slip up and say something he didn't mean to to his boyfriend if he were high. Even something like 'I love you' was more than Mickey really wanted to spill. In fact, he wished that he hadn't said that at all, although it was definitely a better option than "My boss told me he either wants me to pretend I'm going to kill you so that he can have you  _or_ actually kill you, whichever works better". 

So he swirled his tongue around Ian's cock, breathing in his scent deeply. He would never tire of giving Ian blow jobs; the intimacy never ceased to astound him. In Mickey's mind, anything you put your mouth on was sustenance. All that  _needed_ to pass his lips to keep him alive was food and water, and he hadn't brought anything else to his mouth other than cigarettes and blunts until he'd met Ian. And he'd known the moment they'd kissed for the first time in the parking lot of that shitty diner that it was different. He'd wanted to have his mouth on Ian- something that wasn't  _necessary_  for his survival. Not at the time at least, but now? He wasn't sure how he'd get by without the ginger. It didn't matter, though, he'd already promised to both of them that it wouldn't come to that. 

"Fuck-" Ian gasped, spilling into Mickey's mouth only a moment later. He wasn't really sure where the time between starting the blowjob and finishing had gone, but he pulled away slowly after swallowing, looking up and meeting Ian's eyes. He was panting, and his hair was disheveled as he looked back. Mickey took a deep breath, swallowing again as he tried to find something- anything- to say now that he'd returned to sanity. "You're back," he said sternly.

The darker haired man nodded slowly, filled with the overwhelming urge to return to Rossi's and take some more. "Yeah," he said quietly. Almost immediately, the conversation flooded back to him, along with the shaky hands and the burning ball of terror in his stomach. He had known from the beginning that Ian would end up on his list- from the very moment he learned that he was involved with Rossi at all. He had warned himself over and over about getting involved with the redhead, knew that none of this could end well. But he'd ignored each and every red flag- he'd been too distracted by the fucking rainbow flags in front of every one of them. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ian's voice was quiet and calm, and Mickey knew that somehow, that was worse than the screaming and yelling and slamming he'd experienced when Ian found out he was a made man. 

Mickey shook his head, looking down and refusing to meet his eyes. "I... I don't know, Rossi offered and it's hard to say no now that-"

"Don't give me that bullshit," Ian cut him off, his voice so level that it was practically menacing. "You damn well know you could have turned him down. Not sharing his fucking coke wouldn't have meant anything to either of you. Something happened."

He still didn't look up at Ian, simply looking to his sling and pulling at a frayed thread. "It's not important. I can't tell you about it-"

"It's obviously important, Mickey!" his voice increased in volume as he interrupted his boyfriend. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "If it wasn't important, you wouldn't have stumbled in here high as  _fuck_ after driving home under the fucking influence! You think I can't tell when something is bothering you, Mickey? I'm not fucking  _stupid!_ I can tell when something is wrong, and it doesn't exactly take a genius to know that you coming home high on something harder than weed might mean that something is wrong. So what the fuck is it?"

He sighed heavily, exasperated with Ian's constant pushing. He finally looked up and met his eyes, chewing the inside of his cheek. "It's just Outfit stuff that I really can't tell you about-"

"It's me, isn't it?" he interrupted again, and in any other circumstance, Mickey would start to get irritated that he couldn't get a god damn word in edgewise, but it was pretty understandable tonight. When he refused to answer, Ian simply nodded. "Of course it is. I never called Rossi back about meeting up before I went to visit my family," he sighed, burying his head in his hands. "What did he say? Does he want you to bring me in or something?"

Bring him in? That would be the least of his issues if it were the case, but unfortunately, Rossi's request was a bit more drastic. However, Mickey wasn't about to admit that to the source of the mobsters request for contract should things go wrong. 

"Something like that," he nodded. "He um... he wants me to find you since he hasn't heard from you in such a long time and, uh... he wants to talk to you, I guess," he lied, unsure of what a believable lie would be that didn't include death or broken kneecaps or some shit. 

Ian sighed heavily. "Well I guess it could be... worse," he groaned, burying his head in his hands. 

"Don't worry, though, you know I won't let him get his hands on you," Mickey promised, moving so he was sitting on Ian's lap, straddling him. "I'll fucking kill him before he gets the chance."

Ian scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Sure, except he's your boss, isn't he? And now that you're... actually in it, isn't it a bit more risky for you to disobey him?"

Mickey considered this and shrugged, "I guess it is a little, but it's also got a little protection at least. Now more people actually have to decide that they want me dead before I'll get killed. If anyone just flat out shoots me, they'll get killed no questions asked. So I should be okay for now."

"Except from Mason," Ian sighed, rubbing his face roughly. "He wouldn't think twice about killing either of us."

Mickey shook his head. "No, Mason knows his place. Although earlier today, he was being a little motherfucker," he hissed. It was perfectly clear that Rossi had revealed his creepy, manipulative Soloman plan to Mason before Mickey had arrived, and that was why the idiot blond had been so uncomfortably giddy. That bastard practically lived for Mickey's pain and misfortune.

Ian nodded to acknowledge the statement, but didn't say anything regarding it, simply running his fingers down Mickey's thighs, still covered by his black trousers. "You're a dick for ripping your stitches, you know," he commented, looking up to meet his boyfriend's eyes. "I told you that you needed to keep wearing your sling. And why the  _fuck_ did you do that coke!? Fuck," he sighed, leaning his forehead against Mickey's good shoulder, somehow coming full circle right back tot he coke debacle. 

"I got jealous, and scared and angry, and I just... needed something," he admitted. It was the truth, he did feel all of those things with Rossi, just because of something a little more... intense and dangerous than Ian knew of. He'd have to keep it that way for a long time. 

Ian nodded in understanding, but kept his head in the crook of Mickey's neck. For a few comfortable, silent minutes they sat, holding one another quietly. Ian's presence, as always, helped to calm his troubled mind, but didn't completely do the trick since this particular trouble was gut-wrenchingly real and terrifying. Either way, he savored the closeness, happy to be holding the ginger close and listening to the sounds of his steady breaths and strong heartbeat compared to Mickey's shaky, uneven ones and rapid pulse.

All of his noticeable tribulations were put on hold for a moment, though, as Ian opened his mouth and mumbled something almost incoherently against the warm flesh of Mickey's throat.

"I love you, too, by the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so, there are a few things i would like to SAY  
> you're all amazing and your comments actually make me smile and give me life   
> anyways, this chapter was kind of filler/also kind of necessary  
> the next few are either going to continue to get super heavy and rough  
> OR lighten up then get dark again anyways. Either way, I'm still not certain how many chapters I'm gonna make Hit Me...  
> It sort of all depends on where the story ends up ending nicely, but I want it to be a nice number, like ending in a 5 or 0 lmfao. anyways, that's on me to decide  
> love you all to pieces don't stop commenting!!! <3


	30. Chapter 30

Ian fell asleep not long after, apparently exhausted from all the adrenaline he'd gotten worrying about Mickey when he was high. Mickey, however, was still working on coming down from said high- he was no longer actually intoxicated, but it stayed in his system for a while, keeping him from being able to sleep. 

It was one of the curses of coke, he guessed, that the high was short lived and incredible, but coming down often took him hours, sometimes  _days_ if he did enough. He had no idea how Rossi managed it- especially with how high of a tolerance it looked like he had. The come down was one of the main reasons he had stopped doing cocaine altogether- he'd wanted to normalize his motherfucking sleep schedule. That and he wanted Mandy to get clean, too, but that was besides that point. 

So, while his boyfriend slept soundly in his bed, Mickey sighed deeply and stood, making his way into the kitchen. He wasn't sure when Mandy would be coming home from Lip's house, but  _fuck_ if he didn't need to talk to her about this. He'd sort of acted impulsively when he'd found out about it- there was really no denying that. But now that he actually had a chance to think about it, he realized he needed to talk it through with the one person who knew what was better for him than he did. His sister. 

She loved him unconditionally and gave him straight forward, honest advice no matter the severity of the circumstances. This would definitely be a toughie for her, as well, since Ian was her best friend, but that just meant she'd do her very best to keep him as safe as possible. 

Before he could talk to her though, he had to make sure he had his own thoughts in order. Obviously he wasn't going to obey Rossi and kill Ian- that was a given. The other option would be hard to deny, though. He couldn't exactly tell his boss that Ian was unwilling to come in or found some  _other_ mobster to fuck around with- though he'd hardly call their relationship "fucking around". If they were just fucking around, Mickey wouldn't be going to such great lengths to see that Ian was well taken care of and protected. No, he was fucking in love with that dipshit, and would do literally anything to make sure that no one other than him ever got their hands on him. 

All he had to do was figure out how he was going to accomplish that when the man who basically ran his life wanted Ian for himself or dead. He could always do some stupid shit to make Rossi forget about Ian- like find him a different twink or maybe even try to turn his efforts onto Mason... but that didn't get rid of Damion. Why did Ian have to be the total fucking package and attract  _three_ different mobsters on three completely different occasions!? One? One, Mickey could deal with. But two other ones? If they both found out about Mickey and Ian's affair, they would double team him and get the entire Commission to rule him dead. 

So, no, he would have to come up with some sneaky plot to get past the crackhead Capo and the horny soldier. He could always fake Ian's death. He had no idea  _how_ he'd go about doing something like that, but he knew plenty of people who had done it and who could help him with it. That was, of course, a pretty drastic response, but one that he would definitely keep in mind. If Ian faked his death, he would have to leave the state- probably end up leaving the country in all honesty. The only thing Mickey was unsure of was whether he would go along with him. Sure, they loved one another, but they'd barely been dating for three months yet, and that wasn't exactly an ideal amount of time to decide that you were going to pretend you died and run away with someone. 

Plus, if Mickey mysteriously disappeared after delivering news of Ian's "death" to his boss, it would be incredibly suspicious and just because they weren't the sharpest tools in the shed doesn't mean they're the dullest. And Mason would undoubtedly spill his secrets if that happened. So he'd have to think of a couple other ideas before he settled on one that intense. 

A fairly obvious option would be taking Ian in with some excuse as to why he never ended up getting back to Rossi and an explanation as to why he needed to move in with his family and why they were moving. This would require Ian to act as though he and Rossi were still a couple, which would mean Mickey watching them kiss again. He refused to see that again, especially now that he actually had the ginger all to himself; just the thought had him clenching and unclenching his fists subconsciously. If that was their end game, he couldn't be in the room to watch, but he also couldn't leave the two of them alone together. He didn't want to risk Rossi getting angry if Ian said the wrong thing. He would need someone he could trust in there- someone who was just as opposed to Rossi and his ways as he was. Someone sympathetic and untouched enough that they were still humane, but in deep enough that they were trusted. 

Benny. 

The answer was simply- he'd explain his situation to the poor, innocent kid and ask him to keep an eye on the pair while they were talking. Then he could get a thorough report on the status of the situation from someone other than Ian- who would surely lie to Mickey if something went wrong. The whole thing was put together pretty roughly, and he would have to work with the redhead to sand down the edges, but it was definitely a possibility. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to do anything right away, since Rossi said he would give him instructions when the time came. That way, Mickey would have the opportunity to gauge the situation and figure out just which option was necessary. 

Mickey was torn from his deep thoughts as he heard the front door knob jingling and stood defensively. Thankfully, it opened a moment later to reveal his sister, her hair up in a messy bun and her body covered in a pair of short pajama shorts and a cut out tank top. 

"Mandy, thank fucking god," he breathed, rushing to his sister and pulling her to him roughly, even with only one arm. 

She chuckled, hugging him back just as tightly. "Woah, Mick, I missed you too, but it's only been a few days," she laughed, pulling away to look at him. Immediately her eyebrows furrowed. "Holy shit your pupils are fucking huge!" She leaned in a little closer to look at them closer. "Did you do coke? Without me!?" 

Mickey rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "I really need to talk to you," he said, his voice lowered so it wouldn't wake Ian. She gave him a threatening look. "Yes, Mandy, I did coke without you, but you'll understand once I tell you what's happening."

"Oh, damn, okay," she said, suddenly getting serious. She dropped the bag in her hands onto the couch and followed Mickey to the table, sitting across from him and reaching over to take his hand. "What's going on?"

He sighed deeply, licking his lips and searching for the right words to tell her without scaring the shit out of both of them. "Well, um... earlier today I got a phone call from Rossi and he needed me to do a run. Three ounces, by the way, which Sam said has been his regular," he added, and Mandy's face turned into one of impressed surprise. "Anyways, I got it and dropped it off. After he paid me back, he told me that... he said he hand't heard from Ian. But I guess Damion had still been giving him shit, so they're still fighting over him. Since they're fighting, he said he wants to pull a 'Soloman' and cut the baby in half-"

Mandy gasped. "He wants you to threaten to kill Ian so that Damion says Rossi can have him?"

"See, how the fuck did you know that? It took me like twenty fucking minutes to figure out that he didn't want me to actually cut the kid in half," Mickey burst exasperatedly, before remembering to keep his voice hushed. "But, yeah, that's basically what he said. So, I obviously asked-"

"What if Damion doesn't say that? What if he thinks it's a good idea to kill Ian, too?" she interrupted, lifting her free hand to cover her mouth. 

He nodded vigorously in response. "Right! And... Rossi said that if that happens, he- well... he just wants..." he blinked quickly, just the thought frightening him. 

"He wants you to hit Ian," she finished quietly, swallowing thickly. She pursed her lips, dropping her head a little as Mickey nodded. "Well, fuck," she whispered, laughing sadly. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked up and met her brothers eyes. 

He swallowed, his eyebrows furrowed deeply, and squeezed her hand tighter. "Mandy, I don't know what the fuck to do," he confessed, his voice flooded with panic. "I thought about faking his death, maybe, or... or having him go in with some excuse as to why he can't stay," he shook his head. "I just don't know exactly how to do either of those things smoothly."

"Well," she sniffed, rubbing her nose a little. "Yeah, I guess, I understand why you did coke. Kinda wish I had some right now," she confessed. They both chuckled a little sadly at that. "Of course the first guy we both fall for ends up on your list," she whispered, wiping her eyes roughly. 

Mickey's eyes fell shut. "That's exactly what I was thinking," he admitted. It had definitely crossed his mind; the first person he ever actually let in, actually fell in love with was going to cause something  _big_ to happen. No matter what they ended up doing, things were going to change. 

"What if..." she sniffled, shaking her head a little as her face crumpled. He hated seeing his sister like this. Mandy was the strongest person he knew- when she cried, you knew it was real. "Okay, um, what if we fake both of your deaths?" she offered, looking up at him. "I don't know how we would do it, but we can try. Then all of us could get out of here- you, me, him and Lip? Or the rest of his family. You have enough money to get us all started somewhere new," she said, her voice cracking a little. 

Mickey shook his head. "Mandy, how suspicious would it be if both of us went at once? There's no way we could..." he trailed off as he considered. How perfect would it be if Mickey were  _on his way_ to Rossi's with Ian in the passenger seat, and they just happened to get in an accident? "We would need bodies," he said, looking up to meet her eyes. He could tell she'd had the exact same idea.

She nodded, wiping at the tears still pouring down her red cheeks. "What if... what if we somehow incorporated a fire? Then the bodies would be burnt and beyond recognition? The only ID would be the Mustang," she said, jumping a little as the idea came to her. 

"Not my baby!" Mickey gasped, his hand flying to his chest dramatically. 

She chuckled a little, rolling her eyes. "Would you rather lose Ian or the Mustang?" she asked, and when Mickey hesitated, she laughed and smacked his shoulder. 

"I guess that could work," he nodded, swallowing thickly. His shakiness had subsided, though just barely. He knew that talking it through with Mandy would help him immensely. They weren't completely set on details, but they had a few backup plans. Unfortunately, two of them involved pretending to die, which would be a pretty difficult task. All he could be grateful for though, was that he at least had a little time before they needed to decide on one of the plans and work out all the kinks. The "death" would definitely only be a last resort, only necessary if the more trivial options were unsuccessful. "Thank you, Mandy," he sighed, running his hand through his hair. 

She nodded, reaching out to rub his arm comfortingly. "Of course," she assured. "I love him just as much as you, Mick, we'll keep him safe together."

***

Three hours later, still unable to sleep, Mickey found himself in a booth at a 24-hour diner a few blocks away, a cup of steaming coffee between his hands. He'd texted Svetlana when he was on her way, not surprised in the slightest that she replied at 1am, agreeing to meet with him in twenty minutes. 

Well he'd been sitting quietly for ten, not really making eye contact with his waitress when she passed, always asking if he needed anything. After two rounds in a matter of five minutes, she seemed to get the idea and stopped coming around, simply standing at her greeting stand and watching the empty restaurant. 

By the time Svetlana waltzed in confidently, Mickey had imagined three scenarios in which he and Ian would have met without him being in the mafia. It was a far less terrifying relationship, and they could hold hands in public without fearing being recognized or fucking killed. 

"Good morning, Mikhailo," she greeted, sliding into the booth across from him with a dazzling smile. 

He tried to smile back, but failed. "Hey, Lana," he returned halfheartedly. He might as well  _start_ working on the business with her while he still figured out what was going on with Ian. No use in putting his life on hold and making it obvious that something was up with him. 

"Why you text in the middle of night? I thought you were respectable now, go to sleep at 10 and wake up at 7," she laughed, beckoning the waitress over smoothly. By the time the young, emo looking girl got to the table, Svetlana was already rattling off her order. The girl nodded and swaggered off. 

Mickey shrugged. "Definitely not respectable," he rolled his eyes. "If anything I'm the opposite. Anyways, the Rub n Tug."

"Straight to the point," she observed, smirking a little. "Or  _gay_ to the point in this case," she snorted, slamming her hand on the table and cackling. When she realized Mickey wasn't laughing along with her, she cleared her throat and fixed her fur coat. "Oh, we are not in good mood today, that's okay."

He chewed on his lip a little. "No, I just wanna get this over with so we can start working together again. Sorry for being a dick," he said, looking down as he apologized. 

"Which time?" she asked playfully, and furrowed her eyebrows when Mickey looked back up. "I am just kidding, Mikhailo, you know this. What happened?" 

He sighed, shrugging a little. When she gave him a knowing look, he swallowed. "Alright, I may or may not have orders to... take care of Ian," he said, making sure his voice was lowered at the end. 

"The orange boy!?" she burst, gasping. "But no, I like him! You kill him and I bash your head with hammer. Understand!?" she threatened, pulling a hammer from her purse. 

"Woah, Svet, what the fuck!? Put that away, why do you even have that in there??" he asked incredulously, shaking his hand to calm her. 

She shrugged, returning it to it's place. "For protection. You do not touch orange boy."

Mickey smirked, "Well, I mean-" when he met her eyes and saw the firmness in them he cleared his throat. "No, I would never hurt Ian. Ever."

"Good," she nodded, smiling up when the waitress brought out her pancakes and hot chocolate. She wasted no time digging in. "Now, Rub and Tug. I think we open downtown, yes?"

He nodded, "I think that's a good idea. Is there a massage parlor or even just like a spa we could work above? Or below?" It would bring good business if husbands accompanied their wives to the spa and could go downstairs for a quick handy from a Russian prostitute. 

She reached into her purse and pulled out a pamphlet for a spa called 'In the Mood'. "This place already has many customers, men and women," she nodded, taking a bite of her pancakes and chewing before she continued. "They rent out rooms to masseuse in the back. We tell them we are masseuse and do sex instead."

"Lana, you're a fucking genius. No way this would work out this well. 'In the Mood'? That's perfect," he said, shaking his head as he looked through the pamphlet. "You're incredible. How much is room rental?" 

"Five hundred dollars per month. If we have similar revenue to last time, this will be nothing," she shrugged. "I think we get even more money this time with foot traffic, yes?"

Mickey nodded. "You want me to take care of getting the rooms for us?" he asked, and she shook her head. 

"You worry about charging prices, how much you get as salary, and how much each girl gets, yes? Make it fair, Mikhailo!" she commanded, and he furrowed his eyebrows. 

"You know me, of course I'm gonna make it fair! Fuck off," he rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'll do that. How many chicks you got ready?"

She shrugged. "We have twenty five women ready to rotate. We squat right now in abandoned house, but mostly stay with clients when we are call girls," she explained. "With money we could actually buy house together, all live in one place."

Mickey shook his head. "I can help get you guys places to live. You don't need twenty five women to one house, you'd have a fucking brawl every night."

Just then his phone started vibrating against his leg, and he reached into his pocket to check it. A picture of Ian popped up on the screen and he held a finger up to Svetlana. "Hey," he answered, licking his lips. 

"Hey, baby, where did you go?" Ian asked, his voice still groggy and a little whiny with sleep. Mickey quirked a little smile. 

"I'll be right back home, I'm meeting with Svetlana," he explained, looking up and meeting Svet's knowing gaze. He stuck his tongue out. 

He heard Ian's long yawn through the phone before he responded, "Okay, hurry up, I wanna cuddle."

"Alright, you gay fuck, I'll be right back," he assured, rolling his eyes. 

"Mkay, love you," Ian sighed, and Mickey assumed he laid back down, but his breath caught at the sentiment. 

"Yeah, you too," he returned, although he knew Ian was far too sleepy to even comprehend what he'd said. He hung up and stuffed his phone back in his pocket, throwing a twenty on the table before standing up. 

"'You too'? Did you say you love him, too!?" Svetlana burst, practically overjoyed at having heard the conversation, even if it was just one side of it. 

Mickey rolled his eyes. "None of your business," he shot back at her. "Anyways, let me know how it goes renting the rooms, and I'll write up a price report. Thanks for doing this again."

She nodded, beckoning him down to her level. He bent over and she kissed his cheek, rolling her eyes when he flinched away. "If orange boy can kiss your lips I get to kiss cheek, okay? Okay. Go home and kiss orange boy now," she smiled, running her tongue along her teeth. 

"Alright," he smirked a little. "Get home safe, Lana."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how goes it my beautiful turtle doves?  
> there wasn't much gallavich interaction in this chapter but guess what  
> there will be in the next one, obviously  
> i love you guys SO MUCH IT'S CRAZY  
> please comment your thoughts  
> what do you think of their wild plans? who knows if they'll work or not.........???????????  
> okay lmao i'll update soon ily with all my damn heart


	31. Chapter 31

Mickey raced home, an irrational fear of losing Ian lighting a fire beneath him. He knew that it wouldn't come to that- because he wouldn't allow it to- but, nevertheless, he still wanted to get in every moment he could spend with Ian. He got back in about two minutes, since the diner wasn't very far from home. 

He jogged up the steps and sighed before entering the apartment and stopping short. "What the fuck?" he asked, thoroughly confused. Ian was doing push ups on the floor of the living room and Mandy was sitting  _on his back_ as he did them, squealing and holding his shoulders to keep herself stable. 

"Welcome home," Ian said, his voice strained in an oddly sexy fashion as he continued exercising. Mandy looked up at Mickey, her eyes alight as she bit her tongue. 

She squeaked when Ian pushed up particularly hard and clapped before returning his hands to the floor. "This is the most terrifying thing I've ever experienced," she giggled, hanging onto Ian tight. "This kid must be a  _fireball_ in bed," she commented to Mickey, who nodded in agreement as he closed and locked the door behind him. 

"I thought you were still sleeping, Gallagher," he said offhandedly. It didn't matter that Ian had woken up, although he had admittedly been looking forward to cuddling his gay ass. 

He kept at it, clapping every once in a while to scare Mandy, it seemed. "Yeah, but then I realized it's been a while since I've worked out and I didn't want to lose it," he panted, and Mandy's eyebrows furrowed. 

"Please, you definitely haven't lost it, we've been at this for like five minutes now and you haven't even slowed down," she responded, rolling her eyes. "I can barely walk up one flight of stairs without needing to take a break halfway and here you are. Making the rest of us look like shit."

Mickey smirked a little, realizing just how lucky he was that his boyfriend and sister had such a good relationship. The two people he cared about most in the world cared about one another just as much as he did. They were like a little family. 

"What do you even need it for as a cashier?" Mickey asked, grabbing a beer from the fridge and twisting it open. 

Ian scoffed a little, stopping and urging Mandy to get up. "Stripping takes a lot of effort, believe or not," he replied, breathing heavily as he leaned across the kitchen island to give Mickey a kiss. 

He leaned forward and accepted it happily before returning to his beer. "Fair enough." He glanced over and saw Mandy looking at them excitedly, biting her lip. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

"You guys," she smiled, hiding behind her hands a little. "You're so fucking cute!"

He rolled his eyes, rounding the counter and flopping down on the couch next to his sister. "Shut up," he sighed. "By the way Svet and I are reopening the Rub n Tug," he added, glancing over at her. 

A moment later, Ian sat beside him, throwing his legs over Mickey's lap and grabbing the beer from his hands to take a sip. Normally, he would smack anyone who took his drink so casually, but he didn't really mind at all when it came to Ian- surprise surprise. In fact, he simply turned and studied Ian's side profile, winking when they made eye contact. He smiled and scooted a little closer to Mickey in response, taking another drink of his beer. 

"Really? I didn't even know you two were talking again," she said, genuinely surprised. "I mean, good for you, you were really good at that job. Those girls really depended on you," she shrugged, taking the beer from Ian and drinking some. 

"Okay, what the fuck is this? The community beer? It wasn't the only one in the god damn fridge!" he burst, wrenching it back from his sister and necking the rest before the two of them could take it again. He set the bottle down on the table, hissing a little as his stitches stretched a little. Thankfully, his arm pain had stayed away longer than his high had lasted because of the Novocaine. Unfortunately, though, it was returning slowly. Maybe he'd talk to Sam about getting him some pain killers for it. 

Mandy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You know for a damn fact that I'm not gonna be getting up to get myself a beer."

"Lazy bitch," he sighed, running a hand through his hair before settling his hand on Ian's leg. "Anyways, yeah, we ran into Svet in Milwaukee and once she got back to Chicago I suggested we reopen it. I'm gonna need some other source of income now that Rossi won't be paying me," he groaned a little at the thought. That man was just a fucking pain in his neck. 

She nodded in understanding. "Maybe I could just work there instead of the fucking club," she proposed, resting her head in her hand, propped up on the arm of the couch. 

"Ha! I think not," he responded, running his thumb absentmindedly over Ian's thigh. His stomach fluttered a little as Ian leaned forward and kissed his temple softly before resting his head gently on Mickey's shoulder, careful not to hurt his bicep. 

She raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"You think working as a prostitute is going to get you any more respect than working as a bartender at a strip club? The answer is no," he rolled his eyes. "Plus, you deserve way more than what that job would give you."

She sighed, acknowledging that he was right. Mickey prided himself in keeping Mandy as respected and protected as possible and he'd be damned if she was going to work in a brothel- even one he was in charge of. 

"You could maybe help me manage it," he added, licking his lips as he thought it threw. She lit up a little. "Maybe! And only when I can't be there," he said, trying to stop her before she started talking. 

"Mickey, that would be incredible! It could be like a little family business! Plus I bet the pay is pretty good!" she admitted, grinning a little. "You know I'd be a badass manager there, too. I'd fuck up anyone for hurting my girls," she winked and Mickey rolled his eyes. 

"Alright, don't get ahead of yourself," he scoffed. "If anyone hurts them, you tell me right away and they're out, got it?"

Ian tugged on his shirt a little, his eyebrows furrowed. "You're gonna kill them?"

Mickey shook his head immediately. "No! I'm not that much of a monster. Though they would deserve it. I'd just rough 'em up and not let them in again," he shrugged, giving the ginger's thigh a fond squeeze.  

"Oh, that's fine then," he sighed, nuzzling closer. 

Mandy sighed, reaching for the remote off of the coffee table. "What do you guys wanna watch?" 

"Can we watch The Office or something?" Ian yawned, reaching around to wrap his arms around Mickey's torso. He shrugged and looked over at his sister, who was already turning on Netflix and turning on the well watched show. 

Mickey continued stroking Ian's leg comfortingly and rested his chin on the top of Ian's head as he snuggled as close as possible. "Come on, kid, you fallin' back asleep already?" he asked, pressing a kiss to his hair impulsively. 

"Yeah, you're so cozy," he sighed, relaxing against his boyfriend. "I can't help it."

Mickey smiled a little, glancing over at Mandy, who chuckled a bit and smiled fondly at the two. For some reason the fact that Ian was so comfortable sleeping on him made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. To him, he had to feel brutally safe to sleep around anyone other than Mandy (and her occasional boy toy) in his home. Of course, Ian was an exception- as he always was- but for some reason today was different. This wasn't the two of them being ready to collapse after a long, busy day. This was Ian- already fully rested- confessing to Mickey that when he was around him, he felt so comfortable and relaxed that his body literally couldn't help but falling asleep. That was a level of trust he'd never had with anyone who wasn't family. 

The TV loaded moments later, The Office blasting at full volume. Mandy turned it down right away, and sighed, shifting so she was curled up on the couch, using the armrest as a pillow. She tucked her feet under Mickey's legs, and he could feel how fucking cold they were through his pants, but didn't protest. He was feeling far too sentimental towards both of them to do anything of that nature. 

As he'd expected, neither of them really lasted much longer awake, and when they were both out, he cursed himself for making such stupid fucking decisions because every one he made affected both of them. And when they were asleep, they both looked like such innocent, wholesome people who would never do a lick of bad, and how the fuck could he be the one to mess that up for them? How could he do a single thing to put either one of them in harm's way? 

Despite the fact that the guilt was eating him alive, he tried to relax and focus on the television, running his fingers through Ian's hair. Surprisingly, he shifted a little, leaning up to kiss Mickey's throat softly. 

"I thought you were sleeping," he commented, still massaging the ginger's head. Ian shrugged, returning his head to Mickey's chest. 

"If you're awake, I wanna be awake," he said quietly, tightening his hold on Mick's torso. 

He laughed a little, "Wow, Gallagher, that's really-"

"Gay," he interrupted quietly. "Yeah, I know."

Mickey lifted his head, eyebrows furrowed and leaned over so he could see Ian's face. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, brushing his hair back from where it had fallen in his eyes. 

Ian shrugged, trying to move back so he didn't have to look at the dark haired man, but Mickey resisted. "Look, I just-" he sighed heavily, licking his lips before meeting Mickey's eyes. "I feel bad, okay? Because I know this is all my fault, and you're  wound so tight that you're doing fucking  _coke_ and it's because of me. It just makes me feel like shit for doing that to you, you know? So I want to be able to make it up to you and-and try to spend as much time with you as possible before-"

"Before?" Mickey interrupted, eyebrows furrowed. He shook his head. "Before what, Ian? Because nothing is going to happen that's gonna make us spend less time together, I promise. And believe me,  _none_ of this is on you. Sure you didn't make the best decision sleeping with two mobsters,  _but-"_ he ruffled Ian's hair a little, trying to emit a laugh. "-I didn't exactly make a good choice when I decided to work for one. So don't try to blame yourself when all evidence points to me, okay? But I'm gonna fix it." Ian nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Plus, Ian, it's not your fault that I did coke, okay? If you hadn't been around, I probably would have done a lot worse, a lot sooner. So don't blame yourself for that- for anything."

He didn't respond right away, just focusing on Mickey's shirt and bringing his hands up to fiddle with the buttons on it absentmindedly. "Is there anything I can do to make any of this easier at all?" he practically pleaded, pulling on the fabric a little and tilting his head up to meet Mickey's eyes. 

"Ian, just being here is enough for me. Which is surprising because I never enjoy anyone's company," he rolled his eyes, expecting the ginger to be wearing a smug grin, surprised to see a curious look on Ian's face. "You're it, Ian," he added, and though the sentence was short and vague and seemingly meaningless, the ginger's face shifted into one filled with so much emotion, Mickey felt overwhelmed. 

After a moment, he glanced at Mickey's lips and surged forward, kissing him hard and passionately. His right arm wound around Ian's back and urged him to move so he was sitting up and in his lap. He obliged quickly, winding his arms around Mickey's neck and running his tongue over Mickey's lips. He moved to straddle the dark haired man, tilting his head down to get a better angle at kissing him. 

Mickey reached up and cradled Ian's jaw in his hand, letting his fingers curl around the back of his neck. He deepened their kisses, running his tongue over the roof of Ian's mouth and soaking in the shiver that followed. Still, they remained achingly emotional and neither man made any move to turn it into something heated and needy. The purpose of their kissing was simply emotion. Pure, uninhibited care and trust and love that Mickey poured into Ian's lips. 

Ian pulled back, breaking from Mickey's persistent mouth and resting their foreheads together. "I fucking love you," he laughed, his nose brushing against Mickey's. 

His eyes fell shut at the confession that shouldn't have been surprising and furrowed his eyebrows. It wasn't the first time Ian had said it to him, but it  _was_ the first time they'd been looking at one another- the first time he not only heard the admission but saw it in Ian's deep green eyes. He pulled him back in for another kiss, the pressure of Ian's lips on his stabilizing and comfortable. He almost whimpered into his mouth, moved practically to fucking tears like the whipped gay fuck he was. 

When he pressed a final kiss to Ian's mouth, he pulled back enough to get a good look at him, searching his face. He wasn't the type to blurt out an unbridled confession of love- in fact, it took him being high as fuck to even admit it the first time. And the second. The third hadn't even been the actual words, it was simply 'you, too' and he was pretty sure Ian was already sleeping when he'd said it. So he just looked at Ian, swallowing around the lump in his throat, unsure of how to even start. He wanted Ian to know every last drop of emotion that was floating through him, wanted to be able to tell him everything he deserved to hear and give him everything he deserved to have. 

"I-"

"I know," Ian interrupted before Mickey had a chance to actually say anything, kissing him again. Of course he know. He was painfully obvious, especially considering his past experience- or lack thereof. Mickey kissed back but pulled away after a few moments, brought back to his senses when Mandy's feet shifted beneath him. 

"No, I want to say it," he shook his head, eyebrows furrowed deeply. Ian watched curiously, glancing between Mickey's eyes and lips as he swallowed nervously. "When I said you were it, I meant exactly that. You're  _it._ You're everything, Ian," he began, stroking Ian's cheekbone with his thumb. "And when we started this, I told you that... that I hated it. That I hated feeling this way, but-" he laughed a little, looking down. "Fuck, I don't. I really don't, not anymore at least," he assured, looking back up at the emerald eyes already watching him closely. "These past few months have been incredible, for me at least. And holy shit I really fucking fell for you," he chuckled a little, looking away as he tried to collect his thoughts. "I plummeted down a goddamn staircase, actually," he corrected his metaphor with a laugh, which Ian returned, running his fingers through Mickey's hair as he spoke. "And I can say over and over that it's wrong and I shouldn't have and everything would be easier and simpler if I hadn't- if we hadn't. But I don't fucking care about that- about how much better it would be for everyone else if I didn't-" he cut himself off and swallowed again, cursing his nervous fucking  _salivating_ glands. "If I didn't love you," he finished, looking back up to meet Ian's eyes, which were filled with tears. 

"Mick-"

"Wait," he shook his head, pressing their foreheads together again and holding Ian there gently by the back  of his neck. "I don't care about how we affect anyone else, because with you everything is right. Which is gay and something I never in a million years imagined myself saying, but it's true. No matter what happens with Rossi or Damion or the fucking mob, when I'm with you it all goes away. And I think I knew it from that first day in the parking lot when you impulse kissed me," he laughed, and Ian smiled at the memory. "Because I kissed you back. And I know we've already talked about this, but you're the only one I want to kiss ever. You're the first and I don't see myself wanting to kiss anyone else for a long fucking time," he admitted. "That's all I needed to know, and from there it's just gotten better and better. And I just- fuck. I do, I love you, Ian," he shook his head, looking up at Ian's eyes. "So you don't need to do anything to make this easier, because you already  _are_ easier. It's so easy for me to be with you, and that's all I need from you- ever."

A tear spilled over Ian's eyelashes and he searched Mickey's face for a moment before leaning in and kissing him again, so softly, Mickey almost shook beneath him. He returned it, overjoyed to do so, although he wasn't one hundred percent sure why Ian was crying. He figured if he was being kissed, it couldn't be a  _sad_ cry. When he tasted tears, he just made an effort to keep his advances sweet and gentle, relieved when he felt Ian's hands on the sides of his face. 

When they parted, Mickey looked up at Ian and wiped his tears away with his thumb, watching him curiously. "Can we go to bed?" he asked quietly, and Mickey nodded, eyebrows raising a little. 

"Yeah, baby, of course," he replied, leaning up and kissing the tip of Ian's nose before the ginger got off of him. 

Ian laughed a little, "I thought you were a big bad killer who didn't  _do_ nose kisses."

"Shut the fuck up," he replied, pushing Mickey forward gently. "I'll be right there," he added, and Ian nodded, heading to the bedroom. When he was sure the redhead was in his bedroom he sat on the coffee table, across from his sister's form. "I know you're awake," he said softly, shaking her shoulder a little. The second she opened her eyes, tears were flowing from her eyes. "Woah, Mandy, what's wrong?" he immediately asked, moving forward so he was kneeling on the ground, closer to her. 

She started sitting up, wiping her eyes roughly. "I'm just..." she shook her head, face crumpling a little. "I'm just proud of you. And I love you so fucking much," she said, leaning down and kissing Mickey's hair. "I'm so lucky to just..." she sniffled. "To have you as my brother."

"Where is this coming from Mandy?" he asked softly, his head tilting to the side. 

She pursed her lips. "Your little speech to Ian. You've grown so much and you- you deserve it, Mick. I'm just really really proud of you," she nodded, and pulled him up to hug her. 

"You're the best little sister a guy could ask for," he said, holding her to him tightly. 

"I know," she laughed, though her voice was still watery and accompanied by sniffling. "Now go cuddle your fucking boyfriend," she commanded, pulling away and wiping dark tears with the back of her hand. "I love you."

Mickey nodded, "I love you, too, Mandy."

When he started walking away, she spoke up again. "How did you know I was awake?" 

"Mandy, when you sleep, you  _snore_  and you do not  _twitch._ You're literally dead to the world, and your feet were twitching the whole time and you were fucking silent," he explained, winking when she laughed a little. 

After that, he actually made it to his bedroom, unsurprised to see Ian already laying under the blankets. He got in bed behind Ian, swallowing before moving forward to pull the ginger against him. Before he had a chance, though, he turned around and looked at Mickey. 

"I love you," he repeated softly, and Mickey nodded. 

"I love you," Mickey agreed, and Ian smiled, wrapping his arm over the dark haired man's chest and bending at the elbow so his hand was cupping Mickey's face. 

Discontent with that little contact, Mickey reached over and grabbed Ian's leg, hiking it a little roughly over his hips and turning his head so his nose touched Ian's on the pillow. 

Ian leaned forward and kissed Mickey gently, looking up at him. "Goodnight," he whispered, and Mickey licked his lips, squeezing Ian's thigh. 

"Goodnight."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUKC ME I LITERALLY CRIED WHEN I WROTE THE PART WITH MANDY  
> LIKE SIBLING LOVE FUCKS ME UP  
> NOT AS MUCH AS MICKEY AND IAN LOVE THOUGH  
> THIS WAS A VERY FLUFFY CHAPTER  
> THE NOSE BOOPS WERE MY PERSONAL FAV ADDITION  
> COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT MY SWEET ETHEREAL READERS  
> love you <3  
> ps thank you for reading, i literally love writing this and (okay it's gonna get kinda deep) lately i've kind of had a weird funk/ sort of depressive episode happening and reading your comments is actually so helpful? like knowing that what i'm spending my time doing is actually worth while and people kind of enjoy reading it??? it's incredible and kind of gives me like a purpose-ish so a huge loving thanks to every single one of you for that <3
> 
> OKAY THAT'S DONE I'LL NEVER TALK TO YOU ABOUT MY PERSON LIFE AGAIN THAT WAS EMBARRASSING LOL LOVE YOU


	32. Chapter 32

As usual, Mickey was awoken long before he was ready to be conscious again by his stupid fucking phone blaring where he'd left it on the night stand. Unfortunately, he knew right away it would be some sort of mob business, since the only other two people he ever spoke to were sleeping soundly in his apartment. 

So with a reluctant sigh, he wiggled out from under Ian's crushing grip and picked up the phone, sliding out of his bedroom as he answered gruffly. "Hello?"

"Aye, Milkovich, how was your night?" Rossi asked, his voice shaky and uncertain. 

Mickey scratched the back of his head, grabbing a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and vodka from the freezer. Yeah, he already needed a motherfucking drink. "Not too bad," he responded truthfully. "And yours?" 

"Well, uh," he cleared his throat. "I had some more coke, and then some... pixie dust, so I guess you could say it was a good night. Anyways, I'm still coming down," he admitted, although it wasn't necessary for him to say since it was painstakingly obvious. "And I have a meeting today that I want you to accompany me on," he finished his thought, although it was a little scattered. "To help me stay in shape and keep notes and shit. You know what I'm saying?" 

Mickey nodded, although the Capo couldn't see him, and poured his cocktail, consisting of three fourths vodka. "Yeah, I get you," he said, suppressing the sigh of contempt bubbling within him. "What time is this meeting? And where is it?" 

"Just pick me up at 3, it's at some buffet, I don't fuckin' know," he sighed. "Wear somethin' pretty, though, Milkovich, you know the drill."

Mickey rolled his eyes, taking a large gulp of his screwdriver and scrunching his face up a little. "Yeah, what the fuck ever," he sighed, and almost immediately straightened. "I mean-"

He was cut off by the sound of Rossi's boisterous, intoxicated laughter. "Look at you, kid! Finally loosening up. You're allowed to calm down now, Mick. You're made. You've done all you needed to do, now just relax," he soothed, and as much as Mickey hated to admit it, it kind of worked. "Oh! But if you've got those usual hickeys all over your neck, maybe find some makeup for that- it'll show the guys you're a player, but it doesn't look real professional," he chuckled. "We all know a sharp young guy like you's got game, no need to flaunt it."

Mickey laughed a little. Yeah, he had "game". "Okay, Rossi, I'll pick you up at the main house, then?" he asked, drinking more of his breakfast. "What's this meeting regarding again?"

"Finances," he answered, and Mickey could tell he wasn't really paying attention. "And I know this isn't worth saying, but make sure you don't mention anything about your- or  _my_ \- sexual conquests of the, uh... male variety."

"Don't mention we're a couple of fags, got it," he nodded, rolling his eyes. Rossi simply sputtered out more laughter and managed a slurred goodbye before hanging up. Mickey tossed his phone on the counter, rubbing his face and groaning loudly. 

And so it begins. He hadn't been expecting to be thrown into meetings or technicalities so soon, but he supposed that was safer than being out in the field so soon after Tony Zuta. He knew his fair share about the finances in the Outfit simply just by keeping his ears open. Catching a snip of Mason's phone calls or listening in on guys he'd had contracts for. It was no secret to anyone even remotely involved that they basically had control over the meat industry- which amused Mickey to no great end, considering that's exactly where they were at 40 years ago. He did have to admit that it brought in good money for them, so it definitely wasn't a bad gig. 

Just to be sure that he would be able to spend time with Ian today, he checked the clock on the microwave. 11:36am. That would give him a little over three hours if he woke the redhead up soon. He didn't wanna be a pussy and demand that he spend time with his boyfriend every day, but shit was that too much to ask?

He wouldn't be home for a long time tonight, so a couple hours with Ian was more than warranted. He decided he'd run to the store and grab a couple frozen pizzas and if Ian wasn't awake by the time he got back, he would wake him up. So he stuffed his phone in his pocket and grabbed his keys, making sure to lock the front door behind him. 

Just as he reached out to open the door to the stairwell, it flew open in his face. "What the  _fuck!"_ he burst, surprised as two cops stormed out of the door. 

"You Mickey Milkovich?" one of them asked. 

Fuck. 

Mother fucking fuck. 

"Um, why?" he asked, staying obscenely calm, as he'd learned to years ago. He had no idea what this was about, especially since he was always so careful at covering his tracks, but he thanked his lucky fucking stars that he hadn't thought to carry a gun with him. 

"Yeah this is him. We have reason to believe you're guilty of aggravated assault," the more familiar of the cops said, whipping out a pair of cuffs. Anthony Campbell was the first officer ever to arrest Mickey when he was only 16 on account of being out past curfew. They'd had a number of run ins after that as well. 

Mickey's eyebrows drew together. "Aggravated assault? What kind of bullshit-  _fuck!"_ he burst as the cop wrenched his injured arm behind his back. "I have a bit of a  _cut_ on that arm, officer," he hissed, not wanting to make his case any worse, but also not in the mood to be thrown around by some bitch ass cop. 

"Are you resisting arrest!?" the other cop- a tall, thin, lanky man of 19 asked, reaching for his baton and practically shaking in his uniform. 

"Calm the fuck down, Tim, he's already in the cuffs," the first officer replied in a thick southern accent, rolling his eyes at  _Tim._

Mickey scoffed, letting himself be pushed down the hallway. "Aggravated assault of  _who,_ might I ask?" he questioned. If there was anything he thought he'd be tried for it was fraud, or public indecency or the most obvious choice of  _murder_ but not "aggravated assault". 

"Mason Macchio," Officer Tiny fuckin' Tim answered, following closely behind the other man, a beefier white guy of around forty by the looks of him. 

"No fuckin' way," Mickey muttered, sneering as they lead him through the parking lot. 

"Are you aware of your Miranda Rights? You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and  _will_ be used against-"

Mickey scoffed, "Yeah I know my damn rights."

And it wasn't his  _right_ to remain silent, now. It was his fucking  _duty._ He was under a goddamn oath- not that it was too important to him personally. But the oath of Omerta wasn't one that was taken lightly in the Outfit. He'd rather lie in court and be tried for perjury than be marked as a rat and get fucking murdered. Either way there he was, on his way to the fucking station. Today may not be the day Mickey is tried for murder, but once he got his hands on Mason, he would make no fucking promises. 

***

They handcuffed him to a chair once they arrived at the station, on the opposite side of a detective's desk. A detective he unfortunately knew particularly well, as it was the detective who was always on his cases and every other case involving someone in the Outfit. 

Detective Jeanette Waldorf. 

No one took the bitch seriously, despite the fact that she was probably the smartest one in the goddamn station and had every male and lesbian subordinate and superior of hers fucking whipped. She had a bit of a rocky relationship with Mickey, one that he was admittedly at fault for, but it usually aided him in the long run. 

She sauntered over to the desk only a moment later, her tight black curls framing her face nicely. She wore a plain black pencil skirt and a velvety blue top unbuttoned one too many to be considered conservative. Her skin was looking even darker than normal, which he assumed was due to the vacation in the Bahamas she told him she was going on last time he'd been in. 

"Mister Mikhailo Milkovich," she greeted with a knowing smile, tossing Mickey's thin file onto the desk between them and flopping into the chair across from him. "The fuck did you do this time?" 

He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably after being fucking manhandled on the way over. "Not sure. I was going out for some frozen pizzas and bam, there they were, Tiny Tim and Fat Albert ready to fuckin' haul me in for some shit I didn't do," he replied, trying to find a comfortable position for his arm to settle. "You know I could sue your asses for hurting me, I think they ripped my fuckin' stitches again," he hissed trying to look at his bicep, unsuccessfully, since his other arm was preoccupied being cuffed to the arm of the chair. 

"Right, 'some shit you didn't do'," she repeated, looking in the file. "What would you describe shooting Mason Macchio in the leg as, then?" she asked without looking up from the papers.

Mickey made a 'the fuck' face and shook his head. "Uh, I don't know, I'd call it an unfortunate consequence of stupidity," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "The idiot probably fuckin' shot himself, who even knows?" 

"That's right, who even knows? Would you mind telling me what, uh... this picture is of then?" she asked, turning a paper around so it was facing Mickey. He pursed his lips and leaned forward to look at it, cursing every damn god out there as he did so. 

Before him was a grainy photo of him and Ian resting Mason on a bench, already half way unconscious, blood seeping through his pants leg. "That's a picture of me and some grocery store worker leaving Mason on the bench safe and sound for the ambulance that  _I_ called for his sorry ass," he explained truthfully, leaning back and trying to cross his arms to look cool, but finding himself unable to.

"Of course it is, because I know how much you pride yourself on being a good Samaritan, Mickey," she nodded, obviously not buying it, but Mickey would play along just fine. It's what he'd been trained to do. 

"That's right, I was just doing my civic duty as a citizen of our fine country, the land of the fr-"

She cleared her throat, cutting him off and showed another picture to him, this time of him and Ian running away from the scene. "Now, running off without ensuring that your friend Mason got into the ambulance safe and sound isn't exactly what I would call 'doing your civic duty'," she argued, biting her lip a little and pointing to the grainy picture, fully aware of the murderous face Mickey was making. 

"Perhaps, this dedicated civil servant didn't want it to look suspicious since he has a habit of getting dragged down to this shit hole that you call a police station for crimes that he doesn't commit," Mickey shot back without a second thought. "You have no fucking proof that I shot him, no witnesses other than a video camera that shows me  _helping_ Mason Macchio if anything, and a file with a clean record," he pointed out before looking at the handcuff. "Is this really necessary?" 

Jeanette rolled her eyes but rounded the desk, pulling out her keys and releasing Mickey's hand, which immediately flew to his opposite sleeve. He pulled up the short piece of fabric and immediately saw his wound looking split open- again- and an abnormal color. 

 _"Fuck,"_ he growled, closing his eyes and tilting his head back in pain. It was burning- the skin around it was irritated, red and hot, and it was taking on a bit of a yellow tint near where the actual stitches had been torn. 

"Milkovich!" she hissed, sitting on the desk directly in front of him to get a closer look. "That's infected."

"Yeah, no fucking  _shit_ it's infected, Jeanette," he groaned. "If your officers were maybe a bit more well trained, fucking Al wouldn't have felt the need to put me in those cuffs so aggressively."

She rolled her eyes before looking more closely at the wound. "Milkovich is that a gun shot?" she asked, reaching out to touch the skin around it. He smacked her hand away. 

"No, for your information, it's not a gun shot," he replied, although he had no excuse for what it really was. Which was a fucking bullet wound. 

She looked up at the ceiling. "Lord, give me patience," she whispered before returning her gaze to Mickey. "I guess we should get you to the hospital, kid."

"Yeah, you fuckin' think?" he scoffed rolling his eyes. He started moving to take the shirt off, pausing when she saw his warning gaze. "It feels like a million fucking pounds, I'm taking it off," he bit back. 

"I'll call an ambulance," she sighed and Mickey shook his head. 

"Nah, you think I can afford an ambulance?" he laughed, looking around. He most definitely could afford an ambulance, one for himself and everyone in the damn station, but they didn't need to know that. "I'll call Mandy and she can take me. Never got my fuckin' phone call anyways," he sniffed, looking away. 

Jeanette rolled her eyes. "Fine, you do that. And  _while_ you do that, I'm gonna invite that friend of yours in to have a little talk with me," she said, tilting her head to the side. It was obvious Mickey had no clue what she was talking about when his head tilted to the side in a dog-like fashion. "The one who was helping you carry Macchio onto the bench- keep the fuck up, Milkovich."

He rolled his eyes at her dig before realizing just  _who_ that "friend" of his was. "No, no, no, that's not necessary, that was just some random cashier from the store, I don't even know him-"

"Milkovich," she smirked, eyebrows furrowed a little. "I have  _never_ seen you crack under pressure. Is this friend special to you?"

He scoffed, raising an eyebrow at her. "You callin' me gay?"

At that, she doubled over, bursting out laughing and Mickey licked his lips and rolled his eyes. He knew he wasn't  _that_ obvious. "Oh, honey," she sighed, clearing her throat before looking at him again. "What's his name?"

Mickey shrugged, wincing a little. "I told you, I don't even know him-"

"If you don't tell me, I'll just look up the workers at the store and match his profile, it won't even be  _hard,"_ she explained, getting up and moving back before her desk. 

He sighed deeply, "Well, looks like you're gonna have to do that then because I don't know that kid."

"Despite the fact that you drove away with him in your car after helping Mason Macchio onto that bench?" she asked skeptically, raising a perfectly drawn eyebrow. 

He shrugged. "So I offered the kid a ride, sue me for being a good person. And if this whole thing is about Mason, then tell me, why isn't he here?"

She gathered up the images and few scattered papers from Mickey's file and shuffled them back into their appropriate positions before clearing her throat. "Mr. Macchio is currently being... held in custody," she said, not meeting Mickey's eyes. 

He sputtered a little before cackling loudly. "So- you mean to tell me, that he's actually  _in custody_ right now, and you guys are trying to put me on trial for 'aggravated assault' of him!? Man, the system really is  _fucked,"_ he sighed, still laughing a little. "Anyways, can I get that phone call?" She nodded, pushing the desk phone towards him and standing up, beginning to walk away, obviously irritated. "Hey, can I get my shit back!?"

She paused, took a deep breath that Mickey could physically see, and turned around, reaching into her desk drawer and tossing the plastic evidence bag containing his keys and his phone at him. "Thank you," he said politely, and she rolled her eyes, stalking away. "Hey, what's Mason in for!?" he called after she walked away, ignoring him. 

Immediately, Mickey picked up the phone, resting it between his shoulder and his ear. He had no idea who the fuck to call. If he called Mandy, she would obviously cave and spill everything that was going on to Ian, who would then come along with her and be questioned. He could call Rossi, but that man would be so intoxicated that operating any type of motor vehicle would be far too much of a struggle for him and a danger to others. 

Still, he was technically supposed to report to his Capo whenever anything involving law enforcement went down, so he dialed Rossi's number. He would just ask to talk to Benny or something, which wouldn't take too much convincing since Gustavo had basically given himself a fucking date rape drug. 

The phone rang six times before someone answered with a small, "Uh, hello?"

"Yeah who is this?" Mickey asked, somewhat aggressively. 

"This is... Benny," he answered, obviously worried about who was on the other line. 

"Oh, thank  _god!_ Bless your fucking soul, Benny, where's Rossi?" he asked, licking his lips. 

There was a moment of suspicious hesitation on the other line before Benny's obviously uncomfortable voice replied, "Passed out in a puddle of his own vomit."

"Perfect," Mickey whispered. 

"What?"

"Listen, Benny, I need you to come pick me up from the police station and take me to the ER," he said, cutting right to the chase. At that moment, he didn't really have any time to sugar coat his request. 

Benny was hesitant, but confident when he answered. "I'll be there in five minutes," he promised and hung up the phone. Mickey did the same, then reached for it again to call Mandy and warn her that Ian would soon be getting a phone call. 

He cursed when he realized that they would obviously listen in on his call and reached for his cell. 

Which was undoubtedly tapped as well. So how the fuck was he supposed to warn his sister of the phone call her best friend would be getting any fucking moment? He knew he'd had a talk with Mandy about this before, and they'd established a code word in case either of them was ever in danger, but for the absolute life of him, he couldn't fucking remember what it was. 

Marshmallows?

Marmalade?

Nelson Mandela?

Then it hit him, and he pulled his phone out, unlocking it to text Mandy quickly. 

_The Marine is after me._

He was like, a solid 85% sure that their code word was Marine, and if she at least knew that something was happening, then she could at least prepare Ian for a meeting with Jeanette after he got the phone call. 

She replied only a moment later, to his great surprise and gratitude. 

_You mean Morgan Freeman, you idiot? Got it._

He rolled his eyes. Of course it was some stupid thing like Morgan Freeman that they'd decided upon, and of course she understood what he was saying anyways. He thanked his lucky stars that he had such a clever sister, and knew that she would do everything in her power to take care of it. He'd practically trained Mandy for this in case she was ever called in as a witness, so she would have to bestow her wisdom upon Ian. 

Although Mickey was really fucking worried that Ian wouldn't hold up under pressure. 

"Milkovich, your, uh... ride is here," the southern officer (Albert) called, and Mickey gathered his shit, slinging his shirt over his shoulder and walked to the exit, flipping the station off on his way. 

Just as he was about to approach Benny, his vision started to darken. "Fuck!" he shouted, leaning on the wall for support. His bullet wound was  _definitely_ infected, and maybe an ambulance wasn't a terrible idea. 

He didn't have the chance to decide that though, because the last thing Mickey remembered was Benny rushing forward and catching him before he passed out on the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again my loves (double update fuck yeah)  
> i realize this is a turn we were not expecting, myself included   
> BUT i wanted some kind of plot twist you feel, and i think this could be kinda fun  
> if i execute it correctly, which i would really not put a lot of faith into because i'm a mess  
> anyways, i update and get like two comments then suddenly i'm like itching to update again  
> it's like an addiction guys i love it so much  
> it's the mickey to my ian  
> anyways please comment my beautiful turtle doves   
> i love youuuu <3


	33. Chapter 33

When Mickey woke up, he was immediately greeted with a blinding light above him and he groaned, lifting his arm to shield it. "What the fuck," he mumbled, his voice low and gruff. He blinked hard, and the harsh, penetrating bulb morphed into a soft glow. Even so, he squinted his eyes and looked around the room, finding that he was most definitely in some sort of medical facility. 

When he looked down and saw the IV in his arm, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Of course he was in the hospital. It should have surprised him that his arm wasn't accompanied by an obscene throbbing sensation. He wondered silently what they had given him, along with the dosage since he had a pretty high tolerance for pain killers. 

"Good morning, sunshine," a smug, mocking voice emitted from across the room. "How ya feelin'?"

Mickey raised an eyebrow and tried sitting up slowly, grunting a little at the amount of physical labor it took. "Hey," he responded upon seeing Rossi. 

Immediately his mind traveled to Ian, and he attempted to swallow his panic, though it must have been blatantly obvious to the man sitting in the corner, who coincidentally looked higher than Mickey felt. "Did you have a nice nap, Milkovich?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. He had his hands folded in his lap and his legs crossed in front of him, clad in a pinstripe suit. 

He chuckled a little in response, glancing down at his shoulder, which was covered in a proper bandage as opposed to the half assed gauze wraps they'd been applying at home. "Uh, the drugs are nice," he replied, not answering the question on account of his hazy mind. "I didn't know you made personal calls," he added, forming the thought into what sounded like a question. If Rossi was visiting him in the hospital, there was obviously something wrong, and by the looks of it, he was too calm for it to be anything good. 

That was the thing about mobsters, the more drastic a situation, the more stoic they became. It was something they all grew accustomed to doing to keep themselves and others both sane and protected. 

"Well, how can I not when one of my new made boys took a trip to the emergency room after stopping at the station," he shot back, raising an accusatory eyebrow. "Care to tell me what that was about?"

Mickey suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and simply shrugged a single shoulder. "Nothing important. You know you don't have to worry about me, Gustavo," he responded, swallowing thickly. It seemed like Rossi didn't know what he was taken downtown for, although he didn't know that it would be that big of a deal if he did. 

"You know that it's important, Milkovich, if it weren't, I wouldn't have come down here myself. I would have sent Benny or Mason," he added a little extra pressure to the last name, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his glazed eyes a little. "Who is currently in  _custody_ believe it or not for attempted vehicular manslaughter," he explained, licking his lips. "Now how in the world does it happen that two of my most trusted soldiers just so happen to end up in jail on the same night for two pansy-ass crimes?"

Mickey shook his head. "Vehicular manslaughter? Who did he try to kill?" he asked, completely ignoring the rest of Rossi's speech. It was incredibly unlikely that it was Mickey or Mandy, but not completely impossible. His heart rate started to speed up, which he would've been able to hide no problem if the monitor behind him hadn't started increasing it's beeping speed. 

"As it is, he hit a man named Nathan Ferrari," he said, pursing his lips and scratching his nose with the back of his thumb. "Nathan is five foot seven, of slim build, has pitch black hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a pair of black jeans, a white shirt and a leather jacket," he tapped his fingers on his chin. "Does that sound like anyone you may know?" 

In response, Mickey's eyebrows furrowed and he cleared his throat. "That sounds like ninety percent of the people I know," he said in return, surprised with just how much sass was behind his words. "And you know all of them, too. In fact they meet in your basement from time to ti-"

"It's you, Milkovich! This guy looks a  _whole lot_ like you and if you don't believe me, you can go three goddamn doors down and look for yourself! He was also hit outside of a shop I have good reason to believe you frequent, son," he informed Mickey, standing  up and coming closer to the bed. "Some random grocery store," he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and hovering over Mickey. 

"Oh..." he replied, his eyebrows still furrowed deeply. "You think Mason was trying to kill  _me?"_ he asked, more surprised than he should have been. 

Out of nowhere, Rossi reached down and grabbed Mickey's arm in an iron grip, just beneath his wound, and he grunted in pain, but didn't shrink down as he should have. "I don't know what the  _fuck_ is going on between you and Macchio, but let me fucking tell you this. You two keep doing fuck knows what then shooting and trying to kill one another, and the next time your name shows up at the police station it will be in a god damned  _coroner's report._ Do you fucking understand me?" he hissed, his face getting impossibly closer to Mickey's. He nodded vigorously, both to save his fucking tail and to get Rossi's hand off of his flaming, recently stitched bullet wound.

"Yeah- yes!" he agreed, looking up into the crazed, bloodthirsty eyes of his boss. 

"Yes,  _what?"_

Mickey's jaw dropped a little in confusion and his breath caught in pain a little before he understood. "Yes, sir," he corrected himself, letting out a breath of relief as Rossi let him go and an easygoing smile spread across the Capo's face. 

"Well that's just marvelous," he smiled, breathing out happily. "Now, Mason won't be pressing charges against you, and since these were  _alleged_ charges anyhow, I will work my magic and do what I can to get them dropped. Macchio,  _however_ is guilty of hitting poor Nathan Ferrari with his... well with his Ferrari. He'll have to be punished for that in court, and he will definitely be punished for trying to kill a made member by the Commission, so don't try to work on any little revenge plan, alright?" Mickey nodded, frankly a little too stunned by the sudden behavioral shift to say a single thing. "Now look, I don't care if you and Macchio get along- fuck, I barely get along with three of my peers, I don't expect you to do anything different, especially since he's obviously jealous of your rank. You do need to act like a damn professional, though, got it? I know you can't control Mason, and I don't blame you for his actions, but keep your hands to yourself unless you're told different, you got it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow for confirmation. Mickey nodded, and Rossi grinned, reaching out and ruffling his hair. "Alright, Milkovich, you're excused from today's meeting, but you will be coming to the next one. And I'll be updating you on today's later. You're gonna be my right hand man until Mason gets out of the slammer," he informed him as he walked towards the door. He winked a final time before opening the door and started walking out of it. 

"Is Mickey in there!?" his sister's worried voice asked from the hallway and he heard Rossi make a small noise of approval. 

"You must be Mandy," he greeted, and Mickey's eyebrows furrowed worriedly as the door shut behind him and he could no longer hear the conversation. 

The last thing he fucking wanted was for Rossi to know and interact with his sister! It was obvious he knew what she looked like, since he knew nearly everything about Mickey's life, but that didn't mean he wanted them having face to face contact. He wanted to keep his work life as separate as possible from home. 

A few achingly long moments later, the door opened to reveal Mandy, who started walking in cautiously before she actually saw her brother and jumped to flop on top of him. "Oh my god, Mick, you said there was something wrong, but you didn't tell me you were in the  _hospital!_ What the fuck happened to you?  _That's_ Rossi? No wonder Ian hopped on that! I'm so mad at you, how the fuck did you get arrested!? Oh my god, fuck you," she burst, hugging him tightly and sitting on the edge of the bed, not even taking a breath between her questions. 

When she pulled back, she placed her hands on either side of Mickey's face, studying his eyes. He thought through her questions and tried to respond as best he could "When I texted you I wasn't here yet, I passed out when I was about to leave the station. Yes, that's Rossi and also fuck you. I know you're mad at me, I got arrested because they have some bullshit so called 'evidence' of me shooting Mason, so they wanted to charge me for 'aggravated assault' or whatever the fuck. And yeah, fuck me is right, I'm an idiot," he sighed, shaking his head. 

It was just seeming to hit him that Mason had actually tried to kill him. Did his threats mean absolutely nothing to that sad, sorry excuse for a gangster? How was it that Mason blatantly disregarded such harsh, unabashed threats that Mickey was fully capable of carrying out and tried to fucking  _kill_ him? By hitting him with a car no less! What a pussy way to kill a person. 

"What even happened to you?" she asked, getting up and pulling a chair up to sit next to the thin bed instead of  _on_ it. 

He rolled his eyes, looking to the freshly stitched wound. "Those fucking pigs were way too rough when they arrested me and tore my goddamn stitches again. That and I'm like eighty percent sure the wound was infected," he added the last part as an afterthought, more than happy to blame the police for his cameo in the hospital. "Where's Ian?" he asked immediately once he remembered that Jeanette had mentioned talking to him. 

"Well, he went into the station, and I guess they just asked him a few questions about if he knew who had shot Mason and where you were when you found him, I don't know. I guess he held up pretty well. Honestly, I think he already knew what to do before I tried to help him," she shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "Anyways, I guess some friend of his got hit by a car, and he's just down the hall so-"

 _"FUCKING WHAT!?"_ Mickey burst, the dots connecting instantly. "What the fuck is his friend's name?" 

Mandy's eyebrows furrowed and she raise one curiously. "Um, I don't know, Nate or something? I guess Ian was his emergency contact, and it took them a while to ID him, so-"

"Oh my god," Mickey panicked, grabbing his IV cart and moving quickly to the edge of the bed, ready to stand up. "Fuck!" He remembered driving Ian to a Nathan's house back when they'd first met; of course he hadn't thought that they were that close or that they had talked for a while, but if they lived together, it would make sense for Ian to be his emergency contact. "Mandy, I thought you would have known better than bringing him to come see me," he moaned, rubbing his face roughly and stumbling a little towards the door, irritated by the hospital gown they must have changed him into. 

She scoffed, "Well, I obviously wasn't gonna let him come to see  _you,_ but he got the call, and you were at the same hospital, so I figured-"

Mandy was cut off as the door to Mickey's room opened, and Ian was standing in the frame. His gaze immediately softened upon seeing the redhead, and his perfectly rational worries were eased until a familiar, threatening face appeared beside him, explaining the silent, calm panic in Ian's eyes. 

"Milkovich! Look who I found next door!" Rossi announced, smiling from ear to ear as he pulled Ian closer by the waist, causing a hot flame to surge through Mickey's chest and warning bells to go off in his head. 

He nodded, trying to force a smile. "What are the chances of that? Where you been, Red?" Mickey asked, his voice low and even as he tilted his head to the side. Rossi turned and looked at him, kissing Ian on the side of his head, earning a halfhearted, obviously fake smile from the ginger. A protective, jealous rage flooded him, yet he was cemented to the floor, still as a fucking statue. 

"Turns out there was a family emergency with his brother and he got mugged on the subway home! He lost his phone and wallet, so he didn't have my card," he smiled, poking Ian on the nose. Ian shifted to look up at him, a smile that looked almost... real across his face. "The only reason he's here is because Nathan Ferrari- you know the one- was his roommate not too long ago! The hospital called him as the emergency contact and now here we are! It's like kismet!" he laughed, tugging Ian closer to him. 

Mickey's eyebrows raised and he laughed breathily. "Wow, that's..." he shook his head, sitting back down on the bead shakily. "That's absolutely insane," he finished the thought, his heart rate increasing. He felt like his whole body had been doused in a bucket of scalding water and his stomach was digesting itself. He had done all he could to keep the two apart, tried thinking over and over of ways to present Ian to Rossi in a fashion that proved that while two of them shouldn't be together, Ian should still live. Now, though, Ian had turned himself into the perfect, heroic piece of mobster bait, and he knew Rossi would be unable to resist getting himself hooked. 

Because that's what Ian did- he got you hooked. He was the drug that all three gangsters were addicted to. The one that hurt when you didn't have a fix- the one that if you couldn't have, then  _no one_ could have. 

"You feeling alright, Milkovich? Should I go grab your doctor?" he asked, rubbing his hand on Ian's back but keeping his eyes on Mickey. 

Mickey looked between the two of them, sensing the fear in Ian's eyes and struggling internally with how the fuck to deal with it. "Uh... no, I think just..." he cleared his throat. "I don't like needles and this one is kind of getting to me," he laughed mirthlessly, pointing to the IV in his arm. 

"Pussy," Rossi snorted, and he grinned when he looked up at him. "Well, Curtis, I'm sorry to cut this so short, but I do have a meeting to attend," he explained, winking at Mickey at their silent understanding of what the meeting was regarding before turning back to Ian. "But we're on for tomorrow?" he asked, looking down at the ginger for his confirmation. He nodded, and Rossi smiled, leaning down and kissing him. 

Immediately and involuntarily, Mickey stood up and started towards them, only stopped when Mandy grabbed him and dug her nails into his arm. Mickey's jaw was clenched painfully tight, and he felt a muscle in it twitching as he did all he could to keep from ripping Rossi's fucking throat out. 

Somehow unable to tear his gaze from the couple, he watched as Ian's eyebrows furrowed and he kissed back, twitching a little when Rossi reached up to hold his jaw. "There's a bed right here if you two fuckin' want it," Mickey snapped finally, his jaw still clenched. 

When Rossi pulled back he had an amused smile on his face, and he looked at Mickey fondly. "Ever the classy man, aren't you, Milkovich?" he asked, shaking his head a little. Mickey smiled tightly and shrugged. "Alright, well I'll call you later, son, and I will see you-" he leaned down and pecked Ian one more time. "-tomorrow," he promised with a small smile. With that he sent one more look around the room, threw a, "Nice to meet you!" at Mandy, then turned around and left. 

Mickey looked down and chewed the inside of his cheek before sitting back down at the edge of the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian starting towards him, "Mick, I-"

"Don't," Mickey interrupted, not even daring to look at the redhead. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair before looking up at Mandy. "Could you take him to visit his friend or... to the cafeteria or something? Please?" he asked calmly, waiting until she nodded solemnly before looking back down at the ground. 

He could tell there would be undeniable protest in Ian's eyes as Mandy lead him out of the room. Once the door closed behind them, Mickey pursed his lips and shut his eyes, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself down. There was an undeniable rage bubbling beneath the surface, and he worked hard to sate it, trying to push it down. He rested his head in his hand and balanced his arm on his knee, his legs still hanging off the edge of the mattress. 

This was the exact reason he told himself he couldn't be in the room when he brought Ian to Rossi's house. He couldn't fucking  _bear_ to see that. And to see Ian fucking kiss  _back_ almost pushed him over the surface- it would have, too, had Mandy not been there. In fact, when he opened his eyes and looked at his arm, he saw that she'd literally had to hold his arm so tight, that there were bloody little half moons on his forearm from her nails. He scoffed a little and shook his head, scrunching his nose up a bit. 

It's what he'd been afraid of. 

He knew Ian would  _have_ to respond to Rossi's advances, that is if he wanted to stay the fuck alive, but he hadn't actually imagined him doing so. No, it made him far to angry to even entertain the thought of Rossi's arm around his waist, much less his mouth on Ian's. And that just fueled darker, far more intimate thoughts that would undoubtedly lead Mickey into a jealous madness. 

The thought of Ian's mouth on Rossi, Ian wearing Rossi's clothes when he hadn't brought any with him. The thought of his hand on Rossi's throat, or his thigh or in his hair or their fingers interlocked or his fucking  _dick_ up Rossi's ass. 

Yeah, that about did it for him and he stood from the bed, ready to rip the IV from his arm and leave the hospital altogether when the door opened again. He looked over immediately. If it was Rossi he would slam him against the wall and knock his fucking teeth in, no goddamn question about it. Fuck the Outfit and it's rules. 

Unfortunately, it was a tall, buff, caramel skinned man in a white coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck, looking like he'd just walked off the set of Grey's Anatomy. "Well, look who's up and moving," he greeted, a small smile gracing his mouth before he looked down and saw Mickey's hand on the tube, ready to pull. He raised an eyebrow, "Is that the best idea?"

He dropped his hand, rolling his eyes and falling back on the bed. "Can I leave yet?" he asked, shaking his head a little.

"We've done all we had to do with you, but I do have a few things to discuss before I get your paperwork," he said, rolling up a stool next to Mickey's bed. "Your stitches appear to be torn  _twice_ and the wound was on its way to being severely infected when you arrived," he explained, glancing at his arm before returning his gaze to meet Mickey's. "This is quite obviously a gunshot wound, one that hadn't been properly tended to either time it was sewn shut," he said, shooting his patient a look of passive accusation. "Now look, I don't need to know what you're into- don't even  _want to._ But, I have known quite a few folks who have gotten involved with the bad sort, and weren't too keen on either spending money or leaving their tracks in a hospital. Whenever I see one, I try to make sure they get my card." He reached into the pocket of his lab coat and handed a business card to Mickey, who looked it over before looking back up at his doctor. "You get shot again, you just call that number. My team and I will get you in here, no questions asked, help you out and get a reasonable payment under the table. Got it?"

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed and he looked up with a nod. This man actually  _cared_ about his patients? 

"I don't wanna see you coming in here with anymore infected, untreated bullet wounds, then, got it, son?" he asked, looking back down at his clipboard before standing and making his way to the door, lingering at the doorway for Mickey's response. 

"Got it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, um...   
> i love you?  
> a whole friggin lot!  
> this chapter was... something, although i actually really enjoyed writing it  
> gotta get some drama in there right?  
> okay all will be resolved i promise   
> ha  
> haha   
> I LOVE YOU PLEASE COMMENT   
> <3 <3 <3  
> i will be updating asap my loves


	34. Chapter 34

Mickey waited a total of 34 minutes while his doctor left to gather the necessary paperwork required for him to leave, and throughout that expanse of both eternity and only a single moment, every possible outcome to his relationship with Ian had crossed his mind. Despite his nonstop worry and attention, he still had no idea what he would do in the meantime. 

His heart was still pounding from watching Ian and Rossi face suck right in front of him, and he still felt the need to close his eyes and count as high as possible before he felt his boiling blood begin to simmer. At some point in the half hour, a nurse had come in and removed his IV while pointing to his pile of clothes in the corner, all while doing some shameless flirting. Of course, her antics rolled off him like water, but it was better than her being a bitch. So he sat, confused, hurt and jealous, but fully clothed and ready to leave. 

He still couldn't stand facing Ian just yet, not after that display the two of them had put on. He'd thought for some reason that he would have enough self control within him to at least tolerate a little bit of affection between the two of them since he trusted Mickey, but he'd known that seeing something of that capacity emerge from between them would wake some aggressive beast beneath the surface. That was exactly why he'd planned on drafting Benny to take care of supervision for him, not expecting his sister and boyfriend to be such fucking idiots. 

He really did have to talk to them about the severity and stupidity of their decision to bring Ian with when Mandy came to visit him at the hospital. It was already risky enough that the ginger was called into the station for questioning on Mickey's charges, but coming to a hospital he was being treated in with his sister? That was  _more_ than grounds for suspicion, even if he checked in to see a completely different patient. 

 _Especially_ considering that said patient was the victim of attempted murder by the victim of Mickey's aggravated assault. 

 _Alleged_ aggravated assault. 

Either way it was fucking moronic of them, and once he was actually able to look at Ian without his stomach churning and his hands balling into fists, he would have to have a talk with them. Even if Rossi wouldn't have been there, he probably would have found out about Ian's little journey to the hospital and asked Mickey all sorts of questions about it, which no good could come of. 

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, hissing a bit at the sting from his bicep, but committing the act even so. Whenever he thought of Ian, all he could see was the uncharacteristically tender way Rossi had reached up to stroke his cheek. Or the way he'd pressed a casual kiss to Ian's temple. Or the way his arm wrapped around the ginger's waist, or the pressure he knew so well from Ian's lips on Gustavo's instead. It was eating at him, for some reason he couldn't explain. 

Well, he could explain it, of course, just not the incredibly drastic extent of it. It all made sense, the building blocks were all there and they laid out perfectly, but it didn't matter. It had no affect on the way Mickey was handling it, whether or not Ian was physically obligated to return Rossi's one-sided affection or not. 

If it even  _was_ one sided. There had to be a reason that Ian went after Rossi in the first place right? Of course there was money involved, but that didn't mean that Ian's emotional radar was completely silent when they were together... right? Ian was a sympathetic, affectionate, emotional creature, possibly to a fault, and Mickey couldn't be the only person who was ever the center of that affection, despite the fact that Ian was the only center of his. He couldn't expect Ian's emotional history to be as completely dry and clean as his, that was just unfair. 

Even so, he found himself wondering. Wondering what if? What if Mickey had never shown up at the grocery store that day after he'd killed... what's his face. What if he hadn't been around when Ian was fighting with Damion, or had never offered him a ride home? Or his car hadn't stalled in the rain and Ian hadn't carried out Mickey's forgotten groceries? If none of that had happened, Mickey probably wouldn't have dreaded becoming made. If anything, he probably would've welcomed it with open arms. He would've carted Ian around back and forth from Rossi's place or perhaps even...

Perhaps even killed Ian already. 

Someone causing that much toil and tension between such high ranking members in the Outfit was bound to get some attention, and with that, a contract out for a thin, lanky ginger would have just been another paper on the pile for Mickey; another bullet ricocheting out of his chamber and into a hard chest. He never would have known what he was missing out on. Or maybe he would have stopped short upon seeing Ian, as he did when he checked out his groceries. There was really no way of telling, and even if there were, Mickey wasn't sure he'd like the answer. 

There was a soft knock on the door and Mickey looked up, expecting to see the source of his panic and worry, but locking his eyes with the same mysterious doctor as he'd had before. "Alright, Mr. Milkovich, you're all set," he said, handing a small stack of papers to Mickey. "Your sister already gave us your insurance information, so we'll be sending you the rest of your bill directly. There's a prescription in there for antibiotics for you to take twice a day and for a pain killer- which I would like you to ration! Don't eat it like candy, only use it when necessary, understand? Also, try to relax. I know you're in some shit, but that doesn't mean you gotta go around tearing your stitches every day and what not. You're all set to go then, son. Just remember what I told you," he nodded solemnly, winking at Mickey and patting his good shoulder one more time before leaving. 

Mickey waited a good amount of time after his nameless doctor had slipped away before he stood up slowly. He wasn't sure he was ready to face Ian, wasn't sure he really wanted to. Despite the fact that he wanted to be understanding and rational when it came to knowing Ian had to do what was necessary to stay safe, he simply couldn't help wondering and worrying. He glanced down at his prescription, trying to take his time getting to the door. 

Vicodin. That would be nice when he got home. 

After a few moments of pretending to read through the pamphlets on soft tissue penetration, inflammation and infection, he decided it was really time for him to go. He stood up a little straighter, took a deep breath and reached for the door, opening it slowly. The metal handle was cool to the touch, and he spent just a second too long holding it and trying to let the cold steel ground him before letting go and looking down the hallway. He headed to the right, where there was a long expanse of doors, and he assumed Ian and Mandy had gone to visit Nathan. He walked slowly down the corridor until he heard a familiar bout of girlish laughter and softly knocked on the door keeping his sister hidden. He found that his hands were shaking a little and he had a burning knot in his stomach, churning with anticipation for when he saw Ian. 

Fortunately, Mandy opened the door, sympathy dousing her eyes and an apologetic smile gracing her lips. "Hey, Mick," she said quietly, before looking down again and turning to let him in the room. "We good to go?" she asked and Mickey simply nodded in response, looking to the man on the bed. 

He was bruised up pretty well, and had a cast on his leg, along with a wrap for what he assumed was a burn on his arm. "You must be Mickey!" the man- Nathan- grinned, reaching his hand out to shake Mickey's. 

He stuffed his good hand into his pocket and nodded at him. Really, he didn't see the resemblance between himself and this man. Sure, there were all the things that Rossi had mentioned, but that was the extent of it. They shared common features, but nothing drastically similar. "Nathan Ferrari," was all he said in response, studying his injuries a little more. 

"It's nice to actually put a body to the face and the police file," he snorted, and that was enough to make Mickey look up at Ian, spite filling his glare. 

He tilted his head to the side a little, eyes trained on Ian, he was shifting his gaze between Mickey and the floor, guilt plaguing his sharp features. "So  _this_ would be that friend of yours," he said, chewing the inner side of his cheek. "Thanks for that, by the way," he nodded at Nathan, whose eyes went a little wide. 

"I- uh, I didn't mean to-"

"Save it," he said to the dark haired man, then turned back to Mandy. "You ready to go?" he asked her. 

She looked down and nodded, obviously joining the rest of them with their fear of looking into Mickey's eyes. They feared it because they all knew what would be there- the murderous glower he'd perfected, only worse. It was more instense, more personal today. Usually it was just for people who irritated him, or something innocent, but this was a real, deep, pained look that had all of them fearful of his capabilities. 

"I think I might stay with Nathan for a while," Ian said softly, his voice gentle, yet heavy with emotion. Mickey turned away before he started talking. 

He grabbed Mandy's arm and headed towards the door, not saying anything until they were almost out. "I don't remember asking," he shot back, dragging Mandy along with him to the elevator. "I don't know where you parked," he said, although that was fairly obvious, seeing as he'd arrived in an ambulance. 

***

When they got home, Mickey immediately slammed the door behind him and started storming to his bedroom. 

"Mick, wait," Mandy called and he slowed to a stop just outside of his door, turning to face her. She cleared her throat and swallowed while wringing her hands, obviously struggling to find the words for what she was about to say. "I know that was... terrible for you. I- um- just can't imagine what that must have felt like to watch th-" she stopped herself upon seeing Mickey's stagnant expression. "But, just know that... it was hard for Ian, too. I don't know which of you had it worse there, but I know that neither part was an easy one to play. Especially because he knows that what he did hurt you," she added, chewing her lip. "Just... something to think about," she shrugged. Mickey, nodded, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement and reaching for his doorknob. "I'm glad you're okay- by the way," she added back uncomfortable, and Mickey ignored her, walking into his room quietly. 

He knew he was being a dick, but he also knew Mandy understood it and would get past it. So without looking at the ground, where he knew there'd be a scattered assortment of his and Ian's clothing, he pulled off his jeans carefully and left on the T-Shirt and boxers, flicking the light switch off behind him before crawling into bed. He'd just slept for hours due to infection and whatever anesthetic they'd had him on, but he was nothing if not exhausted. 

He laid his head on Ian's usual pillow- although he guessed they were all Ian's usual since the kid had no concept of personal space. Not that he was complaining. The ginger's scent overwhelmed his senses, and although he'd expected to feel uncomfortable or even dirty after having smelled it, he nuzzled deeper into the fabric. That was the top thing he was worried about after witnessing that- how different things would feel now. 

The first time he'd seen it, the two of them were just starting out. There were no real feelings, no commitment, no whispered confessions or silent understandings. Now, though, there was a stronger connection, one that would be absolute torture to break. Thankfully, he figured it would take a whole lot to do so, but that didn't stop the fact that watching that felt like a pretty hefty hit to it. 

Trying not to think about it, Mickey rolled onto his back, staring blankly up at the white ceiling and throwing his arm above his head. The other thing that bothered him was Ian's friend  _Nathan._ He knew the two of them worked together at The Fairytale, and obviously everyone who worked there was gay, so it was likely that the two of them had a history- because who the fuck  _didn't_ Ian have a history with anymore. Plus, he'd already obviously confided in that kid about Mickey and his... situation, or at least some of it in order to get that file of Mickey's charges out of him. 

And if he looked as much like Mickey as Mason or Rossi seemed to think, it wouldn't be too hard for Ian to pretend and do something regrettable with him. Mickey hated it. He hated all these persistent, penetrative thoughts he couldn't seem to shake.

But most of all he hated himself for having the capability to think them. He wanted to trust Ian, knew that he had to do what was necessary, despite what he may feel or think, and that was eating away at him as well. 

Suddenly he was jolted aggressively from his reverie as his bedroom door burst open and the light flicked on. Mickey sat up immediately, squinting at the sudden light to see Ian looking practically homicidal in the doorway. He took a step into the room and shut the door behind him, crossing his arms. 

Mickey rolled his eyes, unwilling to deal with this as of now. "What do you want, Gallagher?" he sighed, rubbing his face. What the fuck was he doing? None of this was Ian's fault. 

"What did you want me to do, Mickey?" he asked, shrugging a little. "'Sorry, Gustavo, I can't kiss you right now because my boyfriend is actually sitting right over there on the bed, and it would make everyone a little uncomfortable', is that what you wanted?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Mickey pursed his lips and shook his head. "Just stop, Ian."

"'I can't make plans with you because Mickey- the guy you actually just inducted like last week, yeah that's the one- might get a little jealous'," he proposed sarcastically, taking a step forward, where Mickey was getting wound up tighter and tighter as he shifted to sit at the edge of the bed and rest his feet on the box spring. "Or even better, 'Sorry for not calling you back, I've been too busy fucking your speed dial hit man, so there might be a little tension there-'"

Mickey stood up and barked, "Stop!" Causing Ian to silence, but not lose any of his will, not standing down at all. "You never know when to fucking stop," he growled surging forward and taking a fistful of Ian's shirt before slamming him against the back of the door, their faces inches apart. 

"What, Mick? What are you gonna do?  _Punch_ me? Go ahead, do it. Hit me," he prompted, eyes daring and sharp as they looked into Mickey's. 

Unable to help himself, he grasped his handful of Ian's shirt harder and pulled him down, their mouths meeting in an angry clash of teeth and tongue before they started ripping haphazardly at clothing and stumbling backwards towards the bed. Realizing that there was no way he was about to unbutton Ian's shirt with one hand, he grabbed one side of it and wrenched it open listening to the buttons scatter onto the floor as Ian shed the rest of the shirt off himself, keeping their lips locked. 

Mickey had been right- it  _was_ different already, just not in the way he'd been worried about. It was uncomfortable and awkward, and it didn't feel like he was some mistress to Ian. No, this time it was passionate and possessive and jealous, and it was a mesh of grabbing and biting and groping and shoving. It was rough and needy and hot, and neither of them could get enough. 

Ian shoved Mickey unceremoniously onto the bed, watching with dark, hungry eyes as he moved backwards and against the pillows before crawling over him and falling between his parted legs to kiss him again. Mickey's hand wound into Ian's hair and he pulled hard, emitting a dark groan from Ian as he ground his hips downwards. He moaned a little and pulled back, moving to Ian's neck as he continued rolling his hips into Mickey's. 

He didn't give it a second thought before sucking harshly at the skin and biting down, running the flesh between his teeth until he knew there would be a mark. The two of them had abstained the best they could from leaving marks on one another, but fuck if Mickey would be leaving him with a bare neck after tonight. 

As he continued to work at Ian's neck, he pulled out the lube and slicked himself up, not even bothering warming Mickey up before sliding into him slowly. The dark haired man bit down on Ian's neck, groaning at the beautiful burn of Ian within him. 

He moved to the other side, wrenching Ian's head to the side with his hair and relishing his pained gasp as he started thrusting, holding himself up by an elbow on each side of Mickey's head. As he sucked harshly on the column of Ian's throat, the ginger seemed to realize something. 

"Mick, don't, Rossi-"

He pulled at the red head of hair far to harshly to cut Ian off and he moaned, thrusting hard into Mickey, who growled a little as Ian hit his prostate. 

"You're fucking mine," he announced, arching off the bed and groaning in pleasure, biting on the soft skin between Ian's shoulder and neck before running his tongue along it. "Mine," he repeated quieter and gasped as Ian rolled his hips a little and he admired his work of art all along the pale skin. 

"Fuck," Ian cursed, returning his mouth to Mickey's and biting at his lips, doing anything he could to get his mouth on him before he pulled away panting, his hand now pumping over Mickey's throbbing erection.

"Say it," Mickey pleaded, pulling Ian's head towards him and rocking up to meet his heavy, sloppy and rough thrusts. Their foreheads touching and they maintained eye contact as Mickey moaned. "Say you're mine."

Ian nodded, his eyes closing briefly as he tried to regain his bearings,  _"Fuck,_ Mick, I'm yours," he repeated, and Mickey smiled, breathing hot and heavy before kissing Ian again, shoving his tongue into his mouth forcefully before crying out a little. 

"Again," he commanded, reaching his arm across Ian's back and holding tight on the back of his neck as he reached a new level of high just before his climax.

"I'm yours, baby," he panted, burying his head into the pillow beside Mickey's and letting out another strangled, "All fucking yours," along with one last hard thrust before they came in unison, both practically choking for air, and ignoring their aching lungs to kiss one another desperately as they came down. 

It took them a while before they were actually able to breathe again, and when the time came, Ian reached down and grabbed some article of clothing to clean up Mickey's rising and falling chest before pulling out and tossing the condom into the trash. Once he finished he leaned down with intentions of kissing Mickey once, and losing himself in that hot, dominant, controlling mouth that only came out every once in a while. 

When he finally collapsed beside Mickey, the dark haired man let out a final breath before turning and looking at Ian. "Fuck you," he breathed, shaking his head and laughing a little before covering his eyes. 

Ian snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around Mickey's middle and kissing his cheek. "I think you just did," he replied, hiking his leg over Mickey's hips. He buried his fingers in Ian's hair and massaged his scalp gently, looking over and making eye contact with him. Ian sobered quickly and shifted forward until their noses were brushing. "I'm sorry," he whispered reaching his hand up and brushing Mickey's incredibly messy hair back from his face. 

Mickey nodded and leaned forward even more, so their lips touched whenever he spoke. "Me too," he returned, swallowing before continuing. "It's probably harder on you than it is on me," he confessed, looking up at Ian, who was looking down at his lips. He leaned forward and kissed the ginger softly before pulling back. "I don't like him touching you," he shook his head. "I fucking hate it."

"Me too," he responded with a sad smile, kissing Mickey's nose. 

He smiled a little, trying to suppress the flustered look he knew he was making before he continued. "If Mandy hadn't been there today, I think I would've-"

"You looked like you were gonna kill him," Ian admitted, nuzzling their noses. "I think he was just too high to really notice."

Mickey glanced between Ian's darkened green eyes and his lips. "Fuck, I love you," he cursed, eyebrows furrowed. It really was a curse, too. "And you're mine," he repeated, making sure Ian hadn't just said it in the heat of the moment. If his lips didn't say it, at least his fucking neck did. There was probably more purple than white at this point, and Mickey fucking loved it; he loved that people would see it and know Ian was taken.

"I'm yours."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another double update!?  
> GASP  
> guys it's literally like a problem now, i'm addicted to writing this motherfucking story and reading your thoughts  
> it keeps me aliiivvveee  
> FUCKK  
> FUCK FUCK FUCK okay, anywas.   
> it's 5am and i haven't slept. Okay. please comment my lovely opalescent tree frogs  
> LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF <3


	35. Chapter 35

By the time he woke up, Mickey was being smothered by his heavy, sleeping boyfriend and he couldn't have been happier. His head was being cradled in one of Ian's hands and his other arm resting under the pillow behind him. His long, lanky body was completely on top of Mickey's, his knees parted to straddle him and their legs entwined under the sheets. The ghost of a smile gracing his lips only lasted a moment, though, as he remembered the day ahead of him. 

Ian would have to go meet up with Rossi, as there was absolutely no getting around it anymore, and Mickey would have to go as well to get his recap of the finance meeting yesterday, and probably do some stupid shit for his Capo now that Mason was in jail. 

He looked over and saw a mess of hickeys practically coating Ian's throat and he pursed his lips. He really,  _really_ shouldn't have done that last night, but he wasn't sure what had gotten into him. He'd had some animalistic, protective instinct pour out of him like rain, and it had come down hard. Granted, it had lead to some  _damn_ good sex, and the reassurance that Ian wasn't going to leave him any time soon.

And, although he should have been ashamed of himself, Mickey felt a strong, possessive pull to Ian that had been sated by the many love bites he bore on his throat the next morning. They would definitely have to ask Mandy for some help in covering those- Rossi would beat Ian to a pulp if he saw hickeys that had magically appeared overnight on what he considered to be his. And Christ knows that if Rossi so much as raised a hand to Ian, Mickey would have him pinned and gutted before he even knew what hit him. 

Ian shifted lazily, nuzzling further into Mickey's neck and inhaling deeply. "You smell like the hospital," he mumbled, and Mickey chuckled, running his fingers down Ian's back affectionately. 

"How surprising," he snorted, gasping a little when Ian bit down gently on his neck, despite the fact that it was incredibly gentle. "What time you gotta meet Rossi?" he asked, trailing his hand back up to Ian's hair and threading his fingers through it. 

Ian let out an aggravated little moan and shuffled impossibly closer, earning a chuckle from his boyfriend. "I don't wanna talk about that," he mumbled into Mickey's flesh. 

"Yeah okay, but we have to. We need a game plan for you," he sighed, looking up at the ceiling. How the fuck was he ever supposed to let Ian go to his boss. "Did he say what you two would be doing?" Ian shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth against Mickey's throat to answer, but the ginger's body language said more than enough. "No," was his only answer as he shook his head. "Nope."

Ian finally used Mickey's chest as leverage and lifted himself so he could look down at him. "Come on, baby, you know I don't have a choice in this," he sighed, reaching out to run his fingers through Mickey's hair. 

His eyebrows furrowed deeply and he shook his head again. "You are not fucking him!" he burst, laughing a little at the audacity of the idea. 

Ian's surprise  and disgust was evident on his face as he shook his head vigorously. "Correct, I'm not putting my dick anywhere near that guy," he agreed, shuddering. 

"Then... what? What are you two gonna be doing?" he responded cautiously, although his entire body relaxed a little after hearing that. Kissing was rough already, if Mickey heard that Rossi was going anywhere further than first base with his boyfriend, then fuck the Outfit. Rossi was a dead fucking man. 

Ian shrugged a bit. "I think he just wants to like... go out on a date or something," he admitted, looking down to Mickey's toned chest and tracing patterns on the skin. 

"Ew you go on dates with those old fucks? That's even worse," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. He wasn't sure if he'd preferred to hear that Ian would be expected to have sex with Rossi or go out and spend real, quality time with him. He didn't want either of those things, obviously. He wanted to do both of them with Ian and tell Rossi to go fuck himself. 

"Come on, Mick, you know that I can't help it," he pleaded, stroking the side of his face affectionately. 

He rolled his eyes, reaching up to hold Ian's hand. "I know, Gallagher," he sighed, looking up at his boyfriend. "We should just leave your neck looking like that so he knows you're taken," he suggested, leaning up to kiss one of the marks. 

"Oh yeah, I should probably assess the damage on my jugular," he realized, pushing up to leave. Mickey shook his head, shushing his boyfriend while trying to pull him back down, their roles somewhat reversed. 

"No, come on, babe, just stay in bed," he ordered, nodding his head to affirm his thoughts. "Shh-no," he shut Ian down when he attempted to interrupt. "It's only-" he checked his phone on the nightstand for the time. "-fucking seven am, baby, we got more than enough time."

Ian chewed on his inner lip a little, but just from the look on his eyes, Mickey knew he had won the argument. He sighed and leaned down, kissing Mickey thoroughly. He grinned at his success and reached up to hold the back of Ian's neck. Neither of their breaths smelled particularly pleasant, but in that moment, Mickey couldn't give less of a fuck. He kissed back eagerly, arching up off the bed to press their bodies together. 

When Ian pulled away and just looked down at Mickey for a minute, whose eyebrows furrowed beneath his boyfriend's gaze. "I don't want to kiss Rossi again," he said quietly, looking down at Mickey's lips. "I don't even wanna have to look at him again."

Mickey reached up, brushing Ian's hair back from his face gently. He had no idea what to say in return. He didn't want Ian to do any of those things either, but it didn't change the fact that he literally had no choice but to do so. So, albeit reluctantly, Mickey cupped his jaw, "Look, I know you don't want to. The idea doesn't make me feel so hot either,  _but_ it'll just make it all more worth it in the end," he said, not even certain on what he meant by 'the end'. 

"And what  _is_ the end, Mickey? You said it yourself, there's no way you're gonna get out of this life now, and even if I get out, it's not like we'd be able to stay a couple," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What the fuck are we even doing?" he mumbled, actually untangling himself from Mickey and scooting away. 

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed and he sat up as well, the blankets bunched up around his hips. "What do you mean?" he asked, cautiously, afraid to see where this conversation was going. 

"I mean what the fuck are we doing! With us, with Rossi, with the fucking Outfit! What's the outcome of this, Mickey, huh? Did you ever think of that? Where are  _we_ gonna end up? Because from what I see, there is no light at the end of the tunnel, because the tunnel goes on  _forever_. I'm not interested in hiding out in your apartment, afraid to step outside the fucking door every goddamn day for the rest of our lives!"

Mickey slowly felt himself getting more and more tense, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, doing whatever he could to release any of his nervous energy. "Ian, we both knew this was gonna be hard- we knew that shit going in," he replied gruffly, his voice low and steady. 

"I know..." he sighed, and reached over to settle a comforting hand on Mickey's thigh. "I know."

He felt the urge to reach out and cover Ian's hand with his own, but the compulsion to know what was going on in Ian's head was far stronger. "We're gonna get out of this somehow, Ian," he promised, considering telling his boyfriend about Rossi's proposition. Even if he didn't tell him about the potential contract, he could suggest the 'car accident' he and Mandy had discussed. 

"You don't know that, Mick," he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "You can't know that. This whole thing is just-"

He was cut off by the unholy sound of Mickey's phone ringing, and he sighed, glancing over at Ian before reaching to the nightstand and answering it. "Yeah?" he sighed. 

"Mikhailo, I am outside apartment, what number are you? I come up and then we go for ride to new Rub and Tug. I also bring business associate for you to meet. he has been managing since you left," Svetlana explained, her familiar voice bubbly yet stern. 

Mickey groaned a little, and watched as Ian scoffed and stood up, walking towards the bathroom. "Svet, now really isn't a good-"

"I will just ring all the bells until you let me in," she threatened, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that she was serious. "Come on, Mikhailo, we need to open quickly, I have 25 women out of jobs."

He looked towards the sky before caving and rattling off his apartment number. He heard the door buzzing a moment later and started to stand before Mandy yelled, "Got it!" 

"Just... I need to get dressed, okay? Gimme a minute," he sighed, and she made a small noise of approval before hanging up the phone. 

He rested his head on his knees and groaned loudly before standing up, tossing his phone onto the bed. "Gallagher," he called, walking towards the bathroom and stopping when he made eye contact with Ian in the mirror. The ginger's eyes had gone wide with horror, and he had his neck bent at an obscene angle so he could see the plethora of hickeys coating it. "Oh..." he mumbled, looking down a little. 

"Mickey, there is absolutely  _no way_  we're going to be able to cover these," he whispered, a look of terror on his face. "He's gonna kill me. Then he's gonna kill you when he finds out," he added, turning around to face Mickey. 

He rolled his eyes, feigning disinterest even though he knew that Ian was one hundred percent correct. "It'll be fine, Ian, stop fucking stressing. We'll get Mandy to cover them and he won't have a clue. God knows he'll be higher than a fucking kite anyways," he scoffed, rolling his eyes before he reached for Ian. Half expecting his hands to be batted away, he slid them slowly up Ian's chest until they were framing his face. 

"I don't know, Mickey, I-"

"Stop," he shook his head, stroking his thumb over Ian's cheek. "Who gives a fuck about him? You do what you need to do, then you get the fuck out, okay?"

Ian nodded solemnly, and looked away, hands remaining by his sides. "Who was on the phone?"

"Oh, Svetlana. She's here with some other guy who's gonna help run the Rub and Tug, I guess," he rolled his eyes, and just then he heard Mandy's squeal, signalling that she had arrived. "Looks like she's here now," he sighed, kissing Ian's chest gently before looking up at him nervously. "Are we okay? We can keep talking about this later if you want, but..."

Ian looked down at him for a few moments, just studying Mickey's eyes before he finally nodded, raising his hands finally to wrap around Mickey's back. A little to his surprise, Ian just pulled him up and hugged him tightly, burying his face in Mickey's neck. He hugged back, obviously, and savored the innocent closeness. When he pulled back, though, it wasn't far because immediately his mouth was on Mickey's and he was being tugged even closer. 

He moaned into the kiss, his hold on Ian as tight as it could be with only one arm. Their lips parted to make way for a desperate, needy kiss that Mickey couldn't help but take control over. Ian's miniature freak out had scared the absolute fuck out of him. He was talking about "end of the road" bullshit and it definitely sounded like there was a potential for a break up in there. That was one thing Mickey didn't think he would be able to get through- killers? Sure. Bullet wounds? No fuckin' problem. Even finding out someone tried to hit him with their car? Easy. But Ian leaving him would tear his entire fucking  _world_ apart. Sure, he'd eventually get over it, but his exterior would be hard and angry and he would never be the same. Ian was his first for so many experiences that he would never want to experience them with anyone else. 

So he held Ian close and kissed him with everything that could possibly say "don't leave me". When they broke apart, they rested their foreheads together, unable to let one another go just yet. Ian shook his head a little and kissed Mickey one more time before cursing, "Fuck."

"Fuck what?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. What about that had upset Ian?

He sighed, shoving Mickey away gently. "Fuck you," he breathed, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. 

"Fuck me?" Mickey confirmed, pointing to himself. What was this fucking psycho on about?

"Yeah, fuck you because I love you," he rolled his eyes and laughed mirthlessly. Mickey's eyebrows furrowed even deeper as he tried to understand. 

He cleared his throat a little, watching Ian's internal struggle. "I love you, too?" he returned, unsure of what was even happening.  

"I would literally do fucking anything for you," he admitted as he turned around and looked in the mirror again, tracing a finger down his neck and wincing a little. 

Again, Mickey stood behind him, dumbstruck as to what his complicated boyfriend was talking about. "You know I would, too," he responded, though it was fairly obvious. 

"Yeah, baby, I know," he sighed, turning around and tugging Mickey back to him harshly. "You know I'm never gonna let you leave me, right?" he asked, smirking a little and wrapping his arms around Mickey's neck. 

He smiled back, glad that Ian was gaining a little bit of spunk back, but still confused. "You don't have to worry about that, kid," he assured, pressing Ian back until his lower back hit the sink. "You're stuck with me."

"Fuckin' better be," he mumbled before kissing Mickey again, pulling gently on his hair. Mickey had no interest in a slow, gentle kiss, though, so he  gathered his strength and used his one good arm to lift Ian enough that he was sitting on the sink and had his legs locked around Mickey's waist in an instant, already understanding. His jaw slackened as he met Mickey's tongue with his own, letting his teeth scrape over his. 

"MICKEY! GET OUT HERE THIS INSTANT!" Mandy shouted from the living room. 

Mickey pulled away and sighed, looking up at Ian. "To be continued," he promised, pulling away and walking back into his bedroom. He threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt quickly, watching with interest as Ian did the same. Everything Ian did was so effortlessly graceful and fucking attractive. He pulled the ginger in for one last kiss before he headed towards the door, Ian following a few feet behind. 

Right as he exited the room, he saw Svetlana, who grinned upon seeing him. Right as she took a step forward, though, he saw a face that ignited an angry flame within him. Immediately, he slammed his bedroom door shut, not letting Ian out. 

"Mikhailo, meet Caleb," she said, although the two had been more than introduced. 

Mickey's face warped into a sneer as he registered the situation that, really, he should have seen coming. Ian's old friend, and the man who had ratted them out to Mason had already told them that he was a pimp, and despite some very shitty odds, he happened to be  _just_ the pimp that Mickey would be working alongside. 

"Mickey motherfuckin' Milkovich," Caleb grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Long time, no see, man. How you doin'?"

"Mickey, what the fuck," Ian's voice floated through the door and he jiggled the knob, to no avail since Mickey was still holding it shut. 

He raised an eyebrow at Caleb. "How am I doing?" he asked, cocking his head to the side a bit. "Well since some people don't know when to keep their fucking mouths shut, I'd say I'm a little stressed, how about you?" he returned, looking the man up and down. 

"You two have met?" Svetlana asked warily, looking between them. 

Mickey smiled menacingly, nodding slowly. "Oh, we've met. Caleb here caused me a whole lot of fucking trouble," he said, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. 

"Hey, man, I didn't do anything on purpose, I just-"

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey cut him off, his face morphing into the familiar mixture of stony and murderous that Mandy knew so well. "Why don't you give me one good fucking reason that I shouldn't cut your fucking tongue out so you can't spill shit that isn't your business right now?" 

Caleb licked his lips, trying to look unaffected by the threat despite the fact that his eyes were twitching a little. Ian knocked on the door one more time before sighing and giving up. "Well, we are business partners now, so-"

"I wouldn't hesitate to watch any of my business partners drown in a pool of their own goddamn blood right now," he responded lowly, raising an eyebrow at Caleb. Really, if he hadn't gone running his mouth the night he'd seen Ian and Mickey together, none of his shit would be going down. Rossi never would've seen Ian again- he didn't even know Ian's real name, there was no way he would have found him. They would have been able to continue their secret romance without so much fear and doubt all the fucking time. 

Caleb scoffed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I really don't know what you want me to say, Mickey," he laughed, glancing over at Svetlana, who was chewing on her fingernail nervously and glancing at Mandy. "I didn't mean to fuck any of your shit up- and I especially didn't mean to fuck up Ian's. I owe that kid my life," he explained, trying to get Mickey's sympathy. It was an impossible task, especially when Mickey was this deep into his hunting mode. 

"I don't give a fuck what you meant to do  _or_ what you owe Ian. I give a fuck about what you and your loud fucking mouth already accomplished," he growled, finally letting go of the door and trusting that Ian was going to stay in their room. "Since I have beef with most of my 'business associates' I'll let you off this fucking once- mostly for Svetlana's sake- but if you so much as look at me the wrong way I'll skin you alive, do you fucking understand me?" he threatened, getting closer to Caleb slowly. 

Despite the fact that Caleb was a solid eight inches taller than Mickey, he nodded his assent and seemed to shrink back a little. When Mickey had that look in his eyes, it didn't matter how much bigger the source of his threats was than him, they knew there was an imminent danger upon them. 

"Anyways, hey Lana, how you doing?" he asked, his personality doing a total one eighty as he turned to the Russian woman and smiled. 

Her eyebrows were high and she looked nervous, but smiled anyways. "Good, Mikhailo," she answered, pulling him in for a hug. Once they were closer, she whispered, "You can borrow my hammer if you want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet you all thought you'd seen the last of caleb  
> NOPE  
> anyways, this chapter is ehhh i don't know if i'm a fan but it's okay  
> i'll update soon for my beautiful children   
> i love you all so sosososososo much!!!  
> please comment lovers <3


	36. Chapter 36

Before they left, Mickey made his way back to his bedroom to explain why he'd slammed the door in Ian's face. When he opened it, he was greeted by the ethereal image of Ian splayed out across his bed, studying Mickey's Glock. Even though he should've been upset that his boyfriend was fucking around with his guns, the sight had his mouth practically watering. What about boys with guns was so fucking attractive to him, he'd never know. 

"It's been a fuckin' minute since I've held one of these," Ian commented quietly, not bothering to look up as Mickey shut the door behind him. He made his way over to the ginger and leaned down to kiss him, unable to help himself. When he stood back up, Ian had a wide, goofy smile on his face. "Wanna tell me why the fuck you made me stay in here?" 

Mickey cleared his throat and sat on the bed next to him, resting his hand on Ian's chest and watching with interest as he lifted it and kissed Mickey's palm. "You know your friend Caleb? Don't know if I ever told you, but he's the one who narced on us to Mason and got your ass hauled into Rossi's a few months ago," he explained, his body igniting when Ian started sucking on his index finger. "Well," he continued shakily, looking away so he wouldn't get too distracted. "Turns out he's that 'business associate' of Lana's, which makes sense since he said he was a pimp," he sighed, looking back over when Ian bit down on his finger. He pulled his hand away reluctantly so that he could concentrate despite the fact that his boyfriend was, as always, a horny motherfucker. "I'm gonna kill him."

Ian rolled his eyes before his gaze landed back on Mickey and he lifted the gun so it was near his head. "Not while I have this," he smirked, and Mickey scoffed. 

"Yeah, as if that's the only gun I o-" he cut himself off as Ian ran his tongue along the barrel. What was this kid doing to him? He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Anyways, I have to go check out our new location, so I'll see you later? Don't go to Rossi's without texting me or something, alright?" he asked, leaning down to kiss his boyfriend. Ian turned his head to the side before he could though, so his lips landed on the ginger's cheek. "What?" he sighed, just wanting a fucking kiss. 

Ian smirked mischievously and bit his lower lip. If he kept doing stupid shit like this, Mickey knew he'd be a goner and Svetlana and Caleb would have to wait longer than a minute or two for him to be ready. "I don't know, I just figured if you were gonna pack heat, you'd let me get a hold of whatever else you're packing," he winked and Mickey sputtered before he burst out laughing. 

"You cheesy motherfucker," he snorted, soaking up the guilty grin on Ian's face. "I love you," he chuckled, obliging when Ian tilted his head back for a kiss. 

"As do I," Ian returned in a theatric voice, tapping the Glock on his cheek. 

Mickey grabbed it from him, "Will you stop fucking around with that? It may be hot, but it's still a weapon, you dork." Ian rolled his eyes. 

"You think I didn't empty it before I decided to try and seduce you with it? Who do you think I am?" he rolled his eyes, meeting his boyfriend's. "I may be kinky, but I'm nothing if not safe."

He smiled and kissed Ian again, a little deeper this time before standing up. "Alright, you safe kinky fuck, I'll be home in a few hours. If you can try to hold off seeing Rossi til I get back, please do, but tell me if he wants you to come over or something okay? Don't let him send anyone to pick you up unless it's Benny, you got it?" he asked, pointing at the ginger, who shrugged and nodded indifferently. He picked up his jacket off the floor and shrugged it on. "Don't fuck him," he added quickly before walking out the door. He wasn't exactly sure where his uninhibited trust for Benny had come from, but he got the gut feeling that he was a good person deep down and doubted he'd be able to earn his button by killing anyone. 

"Ready to go?" Svetlana asked, already starting to leave without confirmation. 

Mickey nodded before approaching Mandy and grabbing her arm. "Hey, Ian's gonna need some makeup expertise in a little while... you'll know what I mean when you see him," he whispered in her ear, and her eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled back. "Alright, see ya, Mands," he said, and she was already walking to Mickey's room before he could start towards the door. He shot a menacing look at Caleb, who rolled his eyes but still took a step back to make room for Mickey. 

"Holy  _shit!"_ he heard Mandy's evident surprise upon seeing Ian along with her laughter just as he closed the door behind them, making sure it was locked. He knew she'd take care of his neck before he went off anywhere dangerous. 

"So, you been to this place before?" he asked Svetlana, ignoring Caleb completely. That fucker could drop dead for all he cared, and the second he was in charge of the Rub and Tug again, he'd fire his ass. 

She shrugged her blazer clad shoulders and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I have passed outside, but never been in," she explained. "They have pictures on internet, though, so I have the idea."

***

As it turned out, "In The Mood" was a really,  _really_ high class establishment. The outside looked pretty basic, nothing special, yet nothing too low grade or dirty, but the inside put the Sistine Chapel to shame. Svetlana and Mickey both immediately perked up, knowing that with such heavy foot traffic and such an obscenely elegant aesthetic they could charge just as obscene prices. 

The manager greeted them perkily, a small, gorgeous Asian women named Kim who reminded Mickey of a mouse. "Right this way. You're renting five rooms, correct?" she asked, and Mickey shrugged in assent- that was Svetlana's territory, he had no idea. She led them to the back of the establishment, pointing to the doors they would be working out of and opened one of them. "All of the rooms are exactly the same, although the ones across the hall are mirrored. Feel free to look around and holler if you need anything!" she said before bouncing away with a clipboard clutched to her chest. 

Mickey turned to look at Svetlana who had a wide smile across her face, and lifted his hand for a high five. The room was much bigger than expected, with wide massage tables provided in the center. The walls were a deep red- perfect for the Rub and Tug- and there were shelves lining one wall where they could undoubtedly keep things like lube, condoms, and possibly toys. 

"This is very nice," Caleb commented, and Mickey shot him a silencing look. He scoffed, but obliged, simply stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking around, tracing his fingers on the gold designs swirling across the walls. 

"He is right- this will do perfect," Lana agreed, grinning as she hopped up onto the table and swung her feet back and forth. "You agree, yes?" she asked Mickey, who nodded quickly. 

He smiled a little bit, "Yeah, we're gonna make some good cash here, Lana. Good job finding this place."

She smiled cheekily- a look that was hard to derive from someone with such a cold exterior, and Mickey breathed in her happiness like air. "We must celebrate!" she jumped down, putting her hands on either of Mickey's shoulders. "We go back home, get champagne and drink until we cannot stay awake!"

Mickey chuckled a little, "That is a  _very_ tempting suggestion, but I have some shit I need to take care of today. Rain check?" She rolled her eyes playfully but nodded. "As long as you don't bring the rat over there."

"Don't worry, Rat is just business partner, not acquaintance," she assured him, patting his cheek. 

"I'm literally standing right here!" Caleb argued from the corner, closely examining a bottle of massage oil that had been left on the shelf.

Mickey scoffed, "No one gives a fuck, Rat. But good, Svet, I wouldn't want you associating yourself with the wrong sort." When Caleb shot Mickey a look, he stuck his tongue out in response before turning back to the Russian. "I wanna go home for now, though."

In the Mood was only a half hour ride away from Mickey's apartment, which was an entire forty five minutes better than the last location. They'd stayed about an hour and a half longer, inspecting each room closely and discussing which girls would be assigned to which rooms before thanking Kim and leaving with their complementary chamomile tea. He felt like a pansy for accepting it, but Mickey learned never to turn down anything that started with "complementary" a long fucking time ago. 

When they returned home, Mickey hopped out of Svetlana's Chrysler and tapped the top of it to say goodbye before jogging up the steps to get back to Ian. He'd hardly been away three hours, and he hadn't gotten any type of phone call or text so he assumed he was still at the apartment. 

After taking the steps two at a time and skipping the elevator altogether, he practically sprinted down the hallway. Most of the time he'd been at the new Rub and Tug, he couldn't get the picture of Ian and his fucking Glock out of his head, and he intended to finish what Ian had been trying to start before he had to cart him away to Rossi. 

The door was slightly ajar when he approached it, and he instinctively reached into his jacket to pull out his (other fully loaded) Glock. He held it close to him and walked in the living room quietly, listening for any sign of distress from Mandy or Ian, and hearing none. "Mandy?" he called, wary to say Ian's name just in case there was anyone in his house.

"In the bathroom!" she called back, sounding perky as ever. He shut the door behind him- he remembered locking it so he wasn't sure who had left it open. 

"Why is the front door wide open?" he yelled, returning his gun to its place as he made his way to the bathroom that wasn't in his room. 

When he got there, he stopped short a little, surprised to see Mandy literally straddling Ian on the toilet, his head bent to the side. "We left for a little bit, must have forgotten to close it on the way back in," she said, her concentration falling on Ian's neck.

"Where did you go?" he asked, dropping in back of her to sit on the edge of the bath tub and make eye contact with Ian, who smiled when he saw Mickey. 

She sighed in response, wrenching Ian's head into a different position. "To the drugstore to try and find this pale motherfucker a concealer that matched his skin tone," she explained, and started applying a green cream onto Ian's neck.

"Why the fuck are you putting green on him? Who's that gonna help?" Mickey scoffed, resting his chin in his palm. 

Mandy shot him a look, continuing to draw little exes all over his boyfriends throat and shifting upwards a little to get a better angle. "Are you gonna let me work my magic or what?" she shot back irately. 

"Are you gonna keep grinding on my boyfriend?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Ian smirked over her shoulder, winking at Mickey. 

She snorted a little before grabbing a small orange sponge-looking thing from the sink. "This is by far the most hickey's I've ever seen on a single person's neck in the history of ever, Mickey," she informed him as she started tapping the sponge over the green marks. 

Ian flinched a little, "It's cold and wet."

"That's what she said," Mickey quipped without a second thought. Both Mandy and Ian rolled their eyes and he replied to Mandy. "Yeah, well I'm nothing if not ambitious."

She snorted a bit, moving Ian's head at all angles while she pressed the sponge into his skin. "I was going to say territorial, possessive, controlling or dominant," she argued, humming a little and scooting up again as she started sliding off of Ian's lap. "But I guess ambitious works, too."

"Since when were you a walking fuckin' thesaurus?" he asked with an eye roll. "And what did I tell you about grinding on my boyfriend? Stop that."

Ian hummed happily, and Mickey smiled behind Mandy's back, knowing how much he liked it when he called Ian his boyfriend. What a fucking sap. 

"I don't know if you've realized- though it's impossible to miss- but Mr. Gallagher here is about as homo as they come," she informed him, setting the sponge down and picking up a bottle of foundation. She poured some on her left hand, dabbing the sponge in it once she set the bottle back down. "Fucking Christ Mickey, I can't get over this pour kids neck. It looks like you choked him out last night," she tsked her tongue and shook her head. His neck admittedly looked less purple, but it was sort of a neutral grey until she started putting the flesh colored cream onto it. 

Mickey shrugged a bit, "Gotta do what you gotta do, you know?" 

Ian smiled a little, rolling his eyes at Mickey. "He doesn't want to admit that he was feeling jealous," he informed Mandy, and she giggled a little, still working on blending the foundation in. By the time she finished, Ian's neck looked about as clean as the day he was born. 

"Woah, Mands, that's... really impressive," Mickey admitted, shoving her off of Ian's lap and taking her place immediately, looking closer at his neck to study it under harsher scrutiny. From the looks of it, there was really nothing under the makeup, and if he couldn't tell Ian's neck was almost completely purple when he was stone cold sober, then Rossi would have no trouble believing Ian was clean when he was high as shit. He turned his attention from Ian's neck and to his eyes, which had a mischievous glint to them. "Alright, Mandy you can go now."

Without waiting for her to leave, he rocked up and kissed Ian, not caring when he heard his sister's scoff and butt-hurt, "You're welcome."

Only a few moments later, the door shut and Mickey licked into his boyfriend's mouth, humming contently. Already turned on, he started doing exactly what he'd continually scolded his sister for and ground hard on Ian, trying to tug him even closer. 

"Look- baby," Ian mumbled against Mickey's lips. "I wanna do this just as bad as you, just not really on a toilet," he admitted, pulling back to look into Mickey's amused blue eyes. 

"Alright princess, let's get you back into the bedroom," he scoffed, rolling his eyes and standing up, reaching his hand out to help Ian stand from the porcelain throne. 

He snorted a little and stopped short just as he reached for the handle, hearing his phone ring in his back pocket. Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey, shoving him forward until he was pressed against the door and grabbed the phone, fully intent on answering the phone on his own and telling whomever it was that Mickey was busy at the moment, until Rossi's name appeared on the screen. 

"Fuck me," Ian groaned, stepping back and tossing the phone to Mickey. He straightened considerably, a feat that wasn't lost on Ian. 

"Hey, Rossi," he answered in his low, gruff mobster voice. Whereas most service workers had a fake, happy customer voice, almost everyone in the mob that Ian had met carried a similar such voice, only it was lower, darker and more angry than their usual. 

Rossi's laughter bubbled from the other end. "Hey, there, Milkovich," he snorted a little. "I need a favor," he explained. 

"Yeah," Mickey rolled his eyes. Could he just say what the fuck he wanted?

"Can you pick up Curtis for me? Don't know where he is, but I'll have him text you his location, sound good?" he asked and Mickey shot Ian a wary look. 

He nodded, chewing on his lip a bit. "Yeah, I can do that. You need me to stick around?"

"If you're feeling better, I need help with a few things," he said sternly, which was shitty code for 'I have a bunch of dangerous shit for you to do, whether you're still sick or not' and Mickey couldn't refuse. 

He sighed quietly but obliged. "Alright, be there in forty five minutes. Tell him to have his skinny red ass ready to go," he grumbled so Ian would know what was up, and he visibly melted sadly, leaning against the sink. Rossi grunted in assent and hung up. Mickey threw his phone back in his pocket. 

"I don't want to," Ian pouted, moving forward again, fully intent on trapping Mickey against the door. He allowed him to do so, even going so far as to hook his leg around the ginger's and use his right hand to press his hips forward so they ground into his. 

He licked his lips and looked up at Ian. He had decided he earlier that heh was going to do everything he could to make this all easier on Ian, since most of it was his fault anyhow. So if he had to bookend each of Ian's visits to Rossi with sex, so be it. "Well, I guess it's a good thing the mobster thing gets you goin' kid, cause you're about to see it in full force," he smirked, his mouth only a breath away from Ian's as his tongue darted out to touch Ian's lips. 

With that, Ian pressed his whole body against Mickey's and kissed him forcefully. "Forty five minutes is more than enough time for me to get on you, right?" he moaned, already unbuttoning Mickey's jeans and reaching into his underwear. Mickey hummed a little as he laughed and winked. 

"Twice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this. is. an. addiction.   
> i. am. an. addict. you. gorgeous. motherfucking. honey bees.  
> anyways, there's that, a second chapter within like three hours  
> i feel like i should just wait another two hours and put the two chapters into one and make an extra long chapter, you know?  
> but i like them all being the same length yada yada we've had this talk before  
> next chapter. be prepared it will be the littest lmao  
> love you <3  
> comment please, especially those big paragraphs hot damn, not only do they get me going, but they get Mickey and Ian going ;)


	37. Chapter 37

By the time Mickey and Ian made it to the car, they were both out of breath and satisfied but not nearly sated enough to cart Ian off to the mobster. They both knew it was inevitable and had buried themselves within one another until the moment they knew they'd have to leave, but that didn't make the commute there any easier. Mickey decided that he needed to drive with both hands, despite his arms protests, because otherwise it would be shaking in his lap. 

"Okay, so what did we agree on?" Mickey asked, seeking confirmation on a subject they'd confirmed nearly fifty times before stepping foot outside the apartment. 

Ian groaned, reaching across the center console to peel Mickey's right hand off the wheel and hold it between his own, ignoring Mickey's anxious fidgeting. "I'm going to go in, give him his kiss and get food with him," he sighed, looking out the window. "Then I'm going to tell him I can't stay the night and leave."

"And if I'm not there?" Mickey prompted.

"I find Benny and make sure he can 'supervise' us, even though I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," he assured, putting more emphasis on the last few words. 

Mickey nodded, "Alright, Gallagher, you keep mental note of  _everything_ he does and says to you and tell me when you're done. Got it?" Ian rolled his eyes, and since he knew they were nearing Rossi's house, grabbed Mickey's chin when they reached a stoplight and kissed him straight on the mouth, a promise and a goodbye traveling from his lips to his boyfriends. 

He pulled away a moment later and Mickey returned his shaky gaze back to the road, gassing it when they were on green. He fully trusted Ian, despite his brain's unending protests, and he knew he could protect himself in the moment, but it would be impossible in the long run, especially if he fucked up with Rossi at some point. He would undoubtedly be off doing runs or making collections for the Capo, but if he rushed, he could make it back, and maybe convince Rossi to let him do some of his work from home. 

Once they were on Rossi's street, Mickey retrieved his hand from Ian, settling it back on the wheel and clearing his throat, his back immediately straightening and his face setting to its usually stony business demeanor. By the time he pulled over, it seemed as though Ian's presence in his car was completely irrelevant and he turned the car off, walking inside and leaving Ian to rush to the door on his own.

Mickey felt bad, of course, that he couldn't support Ian while they were there, but he had to stay in character. He barged into the house without knocking, assuming that there was really no reason for him to be polite, especially when it seemed to get Rossi going when he acted like the big man on campus. "Yo, Rossi!" he called, leaving the door open behind him. 

"Milkovich!" he greeted from behind the wall leading into the kitchen. He poked his head around and grinned, always proving that not all mobsters had an angry, professional exterior. Not all the time at least. "How you doing? Don't let Joey know you went to the hospital, he'd feel betrayed," he snorted, returning to the kitchen where it looked and smelled like he was making biscuits and gravy, and Mickey's empty stomach protested. 

He chuckled a little in response, leaning against the entryway to the kitchen and watching from behind as the obviously high man danced around a little as he cooked. "Yeah, well if Joey gets salty about it, I'll just kick his ass for not doing it right the first time," he smirked, looking up to see that Ian had arrived and was standing behind him, nervous energy obviously emitting from his figure. While Rossi's back was still turned, he looked at Ian and made a downwards motion with his hands that he hoped said 'chill the fuck out'. 

"Fair enough, fair enough," he laughed in response. "Where's Curtis at?"

Ian cleared his throat in response, and Mickey assumed he couldn't really trust his voice, so he nudged the kid forward, ready to turn away the moment they got too close to one another. "Morning, Gustavo," he greeted, his voice surprisingly low and steady. He turned around and a large grin spread across his face. With a sauce pan in one hand and a spoon in the other he leaned toward Ian, asking for a kiss. That was Mickey's cue and he turned his head to the side, trying not to wince as he heard them parting. 

"Ah, we'll keep it short for your sake, Milkovich," Rossi snorted and Mickey looked back up to see both of them looking at him. "Guess PDA isn't really his thing," he said off handedly to Ian before leaning in closer. "Although, personally, I think he's just jealous," he teased, winking at Mickey. 

He could say that again. 

Gustavo gestured for Ian to sit at the table and Mickey fidgeted. "So what you got for me today?" he asked, fiddling with the cuff on his left arm. He'd dressed for the part today, knowing Rossi would expect it if he had Ian running all over town. 

"Well, Benny should be home in a couple minutes and I want the two of you to go visit Mason at the station. From what I hear he's in a room for questioning, so you guys should get a private minute or two with him," he said, rubbing his hands up and down Ian's arms. "Well, private with motherfucking Jeanette watching behind the glass," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Please, kid, don't start shit with him, alright? You both got your shots at one another- pardon the pun," he smirked and Mickey scoffed, crossing his arms as best as he could. "When he gets out, you can do what you want as long as it doesn't interfere with business. Remember to use a code, I wouldn't be surprised if they brought in a couple feds."

Mickey was just about to protest that he could go alone so Benny could stay with the couple when Ian's eyebrows furrowed, and he reached over to stop Rossi's hand from stroking his arm again by resting his over it. To an onlooker it may have looked like an affectionate gesture, but Mickey saw right through it. "Wait, what did Mason do to him?" he asked, looking Mickey up and down suspiciously. 

Rossi opened his mouth to answer and Mickey cut him off before he had a chance to speak. "What, you're gonna tell this twink my fuckin' business?" he snapped, and Ian's eyebrow raised slowly as if to say 'No you fucking didn't'. Mickey noticed, obviously and swallowed before looking back at his boss. There was no way Ian was finding out that Mason actually meant to kill Mickey when he hit Nathan. "There are some things I'd like to keep between us, Rossi," he said giving him a pointed look. 

The older man rolled his eyes but returned the look. "Yeah, whatever, Milkovich, fair enough. Likewise," he grumbled, and Mickey glared a little. He knew exactly what Rossi fucking meant, he didn't want him to tell Ian about the contract- the last fucking thing he'd spill to his boyfriend. 

When Mickey looked back at Ian, the look on his face said they were going to be having quite the talk when they got out of there. He hoped, though, that Ian would have so much to tell him about his day with Gustavo that he would maybe forget about this whole situation. Before anyone could say anything else, the front door opened again and Benny stumbled in, hauling a huge duffel bag along with him. 

"Shit, you need help?" Mickey asked, jumping to remove himself from the tense atmosphere of the kitchen to jog over and lift the bag from Benny's hand. "Woah, what the  _fuck_ Benny?" he strained, but picked it up with far more ease than the former. He hauled it up onto his shoulder and looked him up and down. "The fuck you got in here," he mumbled, taking it into the kitchen and making a noise of disgust when he saw Ian pinned against the counter and trapped between Rossi's hands, their lips locked. 

Benny patted Mickey on the back sympathetically before the couple broke apart. "I thought you left," Rossi sighed exasperatedly, running a hand through his hair. 

"God, can you two refrain from dry humping for two goddamn seconds while there are other people present? Have a little decency," he rolled his eyes, dropping the obscenely heavy bag onto the table and looking to Ian. The ginger had a spiteful, angry look in his eyes as he pressed himself against Rossi's side and rested his hand on the older man's chest. Mickey's jaw twitched and he turned away, looking to the duffel bag. That little son of a  _fucking_ cunt. Thankfully, he had the idea to clear his throat before he spoke. "Anyways the fuck is in here," he mumbled, opening the zipper casually. 

The bag opened to reveal a fuck load of guns, what looked like nunchucks and a scattered assortment of knives and brass knuckles. Like the weird maniac he was, he reached in, picking up a luminescent pair of knuckles and ran his fingers over the sharp edges. His mouth split into a huge smile and he looked over at Rossi, who wore a proud grin on his face, his arm around Ian's waist. The weapons were almost enough for Mickey to look past it. Almost. 

"You know I gotta get good toys for my boys," he winked, pulling a blunt out from his shirt pocket and nodding to the counter behind Ian, where a lighter lay. Still obviously feeling malicious, Ian made eye contact with Mickey as he lifted the lighter and raised it to Rossi's lips, lighting the blunt for him. "I wouldn't pack when you go to the station, though," he instructed and Mickey tossed the knuckles back in, scoffing. 

"Yeah, I'd pack heat when I go to the police," he snorted. "Because I'm a fucking idiot."

Rossi flipped him off and then tugged Ian closer by his belt loops, making Mickey flinch and remember the claw marks his sister had left on his arm. It didn't stop the jealousy, but it brought him to his senses enough to look away. "You too go along then, just check in on him and let him know we'll get Ducky in for him soon," he assured, then seemed to mouth something to Benny, because he nodded. 

"You know, Rossi, I can really go by myself, I mean Benny just got back from collections, so I-"

"No, Milkovich. You and I both know that if you go alone, you'll do or say some stupid shit to Macchio and you'll both be in custody, and who the fuck would I turn to after that?" he asked, taking a puff of his blunt before taking it out and putting it directly into Ian's open mouth. His hands clenched at his sides- Ian was in for a fucking  _earful_ when they got home. He could understand the ginger being upset, but this was just fucking cruel. "No offense, Benny," he added, and the tan man simply shrugged it off.

They left the house quickly after that, mostly Mickey in a rush to get out after he shouted over his shoulder, "You two better not be fucking when we get back!" 

They better not be fucking, period. In any way, shape or form. No orgasms of any kind. And minimal kissing. Fuck, Mickey wasn't gonna be able to focus while he was working, his mind would be on Ian and that old fuckhead while he was out. They slipped into Mickey's Mustang silently, and he pulled away from the curb, remaining still for a moment before slamming his hand on the wheel angrily. "Fuck!" he cursed, slowing to a stop for a red light. 

He felt Benny's wide, concerned eyes on him and he ignored them for now, trying to take breaths as he couldn't stop imagining Rossi touching Ian. "Do you want to turn around?" he asked quietly, looking up at Mickey. 

He rolled his eyes, "With what fucking excuse? I don't want to leave them unsupervised? Likely fucking story."

Benny shrugged afterwards, clicking in his seat belt before turning back to look at Mickey again. "You're really into that guy, huh?" he asked, fiddling with his hands in his lap. 

"Unfortunately," he sighed, using his knee to steer for a minute while he retrieved a cigarette from the glove compartment and lit it, taking in a deep puff. "You know, what  _I'm_ wondering is why you're so nonchalant about it," he admitted, putting his hands back on the wheel and eyeing Benny warily. "Most mob guys would spill if they knew a soldier was cheating with a Capo's side hoe," he said, turning his gaze back to the rode. "Especially if they were gay."

Benny sighed heavily, gazing out the window again. "I told you before, the only reason I'm in this is because of my dad. I don't want any of this shit," he shrugged, and when he looked back at Mickey, he was offering a cigarette, which Benny gladly took. "I guess the crew with the gay guys is bound to be the most tolerant, so it doesn't really bother me in the slightest. I do think that you could probably do better than Mason or your bosses boyfriend, but you're definitely better for each other than him and Rossi. Plus love does crazy things man," he nodded, puffing his smoke. 

"Please, as if I could do better than Ian," he scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning left. "That kid is out of my league," he shook his head, "in fact, Gallagher and I aren't even playing the same fucking game. But either way, it's not about 'leagues', it's about... feelings and all that shit."

Benny laughed, elbowing Mickey in the side. "I think you're the most alright made guy I've ever interacted with," he nodded, rolling down his window to flick ash out of it. "You and Sam at least," he shrugged. 

"That would be because neither of us had any intention of being made," he admitted, putting the cigarette to his lips again. "Stay down this road and you're next in line," he said with a side glance at the young man sitting next to him. 

He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, "That is the absolute last thing I could ever want." When he sat back up, he looked thoroughly stressed, and Mickey sympathized deeply. "My girl and I wanted to get out of Chicago, but when I got involved in all this shit, she dipped," he sighed, taking a long drag this time and aiming it into the crisp, autumn air. "Which is understandable. I guess I was hoping to do what I had to do here before I could go get her back."

Mickey was silent for a few moments before tossing the butt of his cigarette out the window. "You can't plan it like that," he shook his head. "That's not how it works. You're in or you're out, there isn't a middle where you get to quit," he explained. "Don't make the same fuckin' mistakes as me and end up stuck with a boyfriend who is equally as stuck, and both of you would be murdered if anyone found out you're together. Get out before he depends on you too much and has you made."

Benny tossed the rest of his cigarette out the window and folded his arms, deep in thought. They pulled into the parking lot of the station. "Who's Ducky?" he asked before they got out of the car. 

Mickey snorted. "Donny 'the Duck' Durante," he rolled his eyes. "They call him that 'cause he's a lawyer disguised as a quack. We call him in for petty crimes because he's cheap and well versed in the mob."

Benny considered and shrugged before opening his car door. They walked into the building side by side, straightening their suits. Mickey's mind flashed to Ian and Rossi before he took a deep breath and broadened his shoulders, distracting himself with business. 

"Hello, boys, how can I help-"

"Mr. Milkovich," an amused voice chuckled as a tall, muscled man leaned on the receptionist's desk. Mickey tensed and looked over at the familiar, well-dressed man, trying to place his face. "How's your arm doing? No sling I see," he tsked his tongue and that was all it took for Mickey to remember his mysterious emergency room doctor. 

His mouth hung open a little and Benny nudged him in the side. "I- it's alright," he nodded, clearing his throat. He half-thought that he had imagined the polite, dark skinned man who had offered him cheap, under the table health care. "The sling is unprofessional," he explained, glancing down at his arm. Not to mention it made him look like a pussy. "What are you doing here, Doctor..."

"Smith. Elliot Smith," he filled in the blank with a warm grin. "I could ask the same of you."

Mickey shook his head, more at ease now that there was a name to the generous face. "You don't wanna know," he shrugged a little. 

"You're probably right," he sighed, tapping on the desk and grinning shortly at the receptionist before standing up straight. "Well, I was being interviewed about the severity one of my patient's injuries. Might have to testify. Poor young fellow was hit by a car," he shrugged. "Guess the driver is being charged with-"

"Attempted vehicular manslaughter," Mickey finished for him, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Mason Macchio?" he raised and eyebrow and Elliot nodded, bemused. "Just the man we're here to see."

He sucked in a deep breath and stood up from the desk, patting Mickey's shoulder. "Well you boys be careful out there," he warned. "Remember to use my card if you need it, Milkovich," he said, pointing at Mickey before waving and leaving. 

"Do you know fucking everyone?"  Benny grumbled impatiently before turning back to the receptionist and explaining their situation. 

***

When Agent Kullen opened the door to the room where Mason was being held, he shot the pair of suited men a warning look. So Rossi was right- they brought the Feds in. Of course they did- Mason didn't even try to fucking be subtle, and he had quite the record for fuck ups. They knew about his mob association and were of course, working to the best of their abilities to shut the Outfit down. 

"Oh- what the fuck, he sent you!?" Mason rolled his eyes, slamming his head down on the table. "I'm never fucking getting out of here."

Mickey smirked, a wicked feeling flowering within him. Once Mason did manage to wriggle his way out, Mickey would literally fucking destroy him. "Good to see you, too, sweetheart," he greeted, tilting his head to the side a little and flopping down in a chair across from him, raising his feet onto the table and rocking back casually in his chair. "I hear you missed the bulls-eye by a little bit," he said sarcastically. "Shot for the deer and hit a rabbit," he sighed. "It's tragic really."

"When the fuck are they sending a lawyer?" he growled, leaning forward to stare Mickey down, but stopping when the table he was handcuffed to restricted him. 

Mickey chuckled a little running a hand through his hair. "Ducky should be coming in sometime soon," he shrugged casually. "They obviously got the best for you."

"They're sending  _Ducky?_ What the fuck..." he groaned, burying his face in his free hand. "Why the fuck are you so average looking?" he shot at Mickey, who took the dig in stride. 

"It's a blessing and a curse," he smiled, raising an eyebrow at Mason. "Blessing when people get mad at you, a curse when 'average' turns out to be devilishly handsome," he said with a wink, milking the fact that Mason had to be on his best behavior hard. "Anything you wanna say to me, Macchio?" Mickey asked, picking at his nails before looking up to make eye contact. "Any apologies, regrets... something to make life after prison a little more  _bearable_ for you?" he quirked a brow, his words dripping with disdain. 

Mason scoffed, "Please, I'll welcome my 'probation' with open arms."

"Well that's good, because I'm gonna be your PO for the rest of your miserable fucking life," he said, his words growing lower and more threatening with every word. Benny sat down calmly next to him and smacked him in the shoulder. 

Unaffected like the idiot he was, Mason simply rolled his eyes. "You're such a drama queen. You won't do shit, Mr. Aggravated Assault," he spat back, arms crossed as much as possible. 

"Right," Mickey chuckled. "Thanks for not pressing charges, by the way. Don't know where they got the idea that I could ever shoot anyone."

"That all you had to talk to me about?" he hissed, and Mickey looked to Benny for confirmation before nodding.

The pair stood up, knocking on the door for the agent to let them out. "Don't worry, Macchio. Just  _hang_ in there and it'll all be over soon," he promised with a sneer, and that finally made Mason shrink a little.

Agent Kullen gave them both threatening looks as they exited the room and Mickey scoffed. "Don't get your fangs in a bunch, Eddie, we're leaving," he placated the man unsuccessfully before Benny grabbed him and dragged him back to the car. 

It had been a short meeting, just as Mickey had prayed it would be, and the ride home was even shorter as Mickey sped down the Chicago streets in hopes of returning to Rossi's house before he made a move on Ian- who he was still pissed at. 

He parked haphazardly, the car jolting painfully as he slammed on the brakes. He didn't even wait for Benny to recover before racing back up to the house and wrenching the door open roughly. 

The sight he walked in on wasn't on of the scenarios that he'd been expecting, but he couldn't tell whether that was a good thing or not. Rossi was sprawled across the couch, passed out cold with some left over coke residue on the table, on top of which rested a need, a spoon, a lighter and  a rubber band. Ian sat on the end up the couch, his arm resting on the end of the couch and his head tilted back, a content smile on his face. 

"Gallagher," Mickey hissed, rushing over to the ginger and shaking him. "Get the fuck up," he whispered, far beyond pissed at that point. When Ian's eyes opened slowly to reveal glazed green irises and blown up pupils, along with a wide grin he wrenched him up roughly, positive that Rossi was far too high to wake up for the next few years, which meant one thing- he wasn't the one who snorted the coke. "Are you a fucking  _idiot,_ Ian!?" he whisper-yelled, shoving him harshly towards the door. 

Benny shuffled in a moment later, taking in a tense, angry Mickey and a high, giggly Ian. He blew out a long breath from his mouth and patted Ian on the shoulder, "You done fucked up, son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm  
> HMMMM  
> ya'll got a taste of high Mickey, guess who's gonna make a cameo in the next chapter???  
> anyways, what did you think? where is the story going??   
> who in the world is Elliot???  
> WHAT'S BENNY UP TO!???  
> idk but you, my glorious jellyfish, are my true loves.   
> please comment your beautiful, amazing thoughts and I'll be back soon with another update because dare i say  
> i am on a muddafucken ROLL lately!!!  
> LOVE YOU <3


	38. Chapter 38

Mickey's white knuckled grip on the wheel only continued to tighten as Ian ran his hands all over the expanse of the dark haired man's chest and torso and giggled. "Put your fucking seat belt on," he growled at the ginger, who ignored him and leaned over to kiss Mickey's neck, not even in his chair anymore. He had half the mind to slam on the brakes to release some of his anger, but since Ian was in the same position he had been a few mere nights ago, he opted against it. 

"You're so fucking sexy," he mumbled into Mickey's throat, and he found himself turned on despite his anger. Of course he did, damn near everything Ian did got him going no matter what mood he was in. The ginger reached down and started groping him through his pants, letting his tongue slide out against Mickey's neck. "I'm not allowed to have hickeys, but you are," he said, vocalizing just about any thought popping into his head. "That way people can know that you're taken," he added matter of factly. 

Mickey rolled his eyes, pushing him away half-heartedly. "At least save it til we get home," he sighed in defeat, and only then did Ian return to his seat and buckle up. 

"I'm gonna give it to you so hard," Ian said before falling into a fit of laughter.

He had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing at the disaster of a man sitting beside him. "Ian," he simply said, shaking his head. 

He smiled at Mickey, a dazzling, uninhibited smile that held no rational fear or anger or sadness. He was pissed as fuck that Ian had done that coke, but he wanted to let him have this. It was unhealthy and a horrible coping mechanism, and they would sure as fuck be talking about it when he was sober again, but he deserved his twenty minutes of happiness. In fact, Mickey made the decision to step a little harder on the gas, so they could get home quicker. 

Ian noticed and reached for Mickey's hand, nuzzling it fondly. 

When they arrived home, Ian was out of the car in an instant, stumbling around excitedly to Mickey's door and tugging him out of it, immediately latching onto his boyfriend in a kiss, his arms wound tight around Mickey's neck. Unable to stop himself, he kissed back, wrapping a protective arm around Ian's back and crushing their bodies together. His lips parted, ready to devour high Ian while he could. As his tongue met Ian's, he tried hard to shed all thoughts of Rossi from his mind, although it was an impossible task. When he did though, it simply brought out his territorial nature and caused him to tug a willing Ian closer. 

"Mickey Milkovich!" a female voice gasped, and he jerked away from Ian instantly, looking over at a small, excited blonde girl. "Is this your boyfriend!?" 

Oh god. Oh fucking god. "Hey, Mc...Kayla?" he greeted, though it sounded more like a question as he tried to remember his neighbor's name. 

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend," she whispered, a grin on her face. "What's your name?"

Ian smiled back, still latched onto Mickey as he answered, "Ian, nice to meet you McKayla. We have to go."

"I see that," she smirked mischievously, winking at the couple. "You two have fun," she called as she started walking to her car. "Be safe!"

Without a second thought, Ian tugged Mickey roughly towards the door, laughing the whole way. "She seemed nice," he said off-handedly, wrapping Mickey's arm around his waist as they approached the apartment. Mickey struggled to unlock it for some reason, nervous and angry and jealous and really turned on, but when he finally got it open, Ian had him pinned against it, and his mouth was back on Mickey's, his fingers locking the door behind him. 

"Ian, we should-" his breath caught as the ginger ground against him. "Mm, we should go to the bedroom, so Mandy doesn't-"

"I already texted Mandy," Ian smirked, pulling back and shedding his shirt before gently pulling off Mickey's suit coat. He started unbuttoning his vest, and Ian's hands stopped him. "Leave the suit on," he commanded and Mickey raised a playful eyebrow. "And roll your sleeves up to your elbows."

He did as his boyfriend told him and leaned forward while doing so to continue kissing him. "So we're finally playing into your weird mob fantasy?" he panted, a smile on his mouth. 

"It's not weird if it's with you," he admitted, leaning back into Mickey and framing his face with his hands. Mickey brought his hands around to Ian's back, making sure to be gentle with his left so he didn't end up in the hospital again. Thankfully, he'd taken his Vicodin earlier that day, so the pain was bearable. He kissed Ian hotly, pushing off the door so they could get to the bedroom anyways. He had an idea. 

Ian pulled back a little to make eye contact with him and Mickey glanced down at his neck, where the makeup had stayed put for the most part. That needed to fucking change so he looked back up at the ginger. "Get on the bed, I'll be right there," he commanded, fiddling with his sleeve a bit. He could tell by the look on Ian's face that it was gonna be a good night- or at least a good fifteen minutes, since that was all they had left before Ian would return to sobriety, though he doubted either of them would have the willpower or the desire to stop when that time came. 

Ian nodded, a delighted look in his eyes as Mickey made his way to Mandy's bathroom and found makeup wipes, grabbing them before he returned to the bedroom, happy to see that Ian had taken the liberty of stripping down to his boxers, sitting on the edge of the bed with a dopey grin on his face and waiting for Mickey to get back. 

"Scoot up," he said, nodding his head so Ian would comply, which he did. He threw a leg over Ian's lap and knelt to straddle him, releasing a breath as he ran his fingers up Mickey's thighs. He pulled a wipe out and threw the rest of the package onto the floor before wrenching Ian's head back by his hair to get a good look at his throat. The ginger smiled and chuckled darkly, obviously enjoying dominant Mickey. Keeping a firm grip on Ian's head, he started wiping away the makeup that kept the world from seeing Ian's marks, a smug grin forming on his face as he revealed more and more bruises. "There you are," he said lowly, tossing the wipe in the trash and releasing Ian. 

The redhead immediately leaned forward and kissed Mickey, who grabbed Ian's hands and wrenched them behind his back. The groan that emitted from Ian's throat was practically sinful, and Mickey's entire body ignited at the sound. He bit at Ian's lips a bit more before pulling away just enough to reach up and untie his tie, pulling it from his collar. "Lay down," he demanded, and Ian lowered slowly onto his back, eyes dark and excited. "Hands above your head." Ian obliged, biting his lip in an incredibly hot fashion as Mickey reached up, threading his tie through the headboard and then getting to work on securing it around Ian's wrists. He began grinding against the ginger as he did so, pulling the knots tight and looking down with pleasure at his panting boyfriend. "This really gets you going, huh?" he smirked, running his fingers down Ian's chest before trailing them back up and cupping his hand around Ian's throat gently.

The ginger hummed his pleasure, arching up off the bed, still laughing darkly and pulling gently at his restraints. "Fuck," he nodded, rolling his hips upward into Mickey's. This would be Mickey's first time having anything close to control in their relationship, especially since he was putty beneath Ian's touch most days, never even attempting or really yearning to be dominant. Tonight, though, he was so wound up and upset with Ian, that it was getting him more than going to have his boyfriend bound beneath him. 

He bent over, nipping at Ian's neck, muttering a little, "Mine," before reaching into Ian's boxers and gripping his shaft. Ian responded immediately, tugging against the cloth in an attempt to get his hands on Mickey, who smirked up at him. 

"Fuck, Mickey," he moaned as Mickey kissed down his chest. "You're so fucking good," he praised, shaky breaths and curses tumbling past his lips as the dark haired man kissed down his treasure trail. 

"Ian," he said lowly, his voice dark and commanding. "Have you ever heard of Omerta?" He moaned as Mickey swiped his thumb over his tip and shook his head. He kept his gaze tight on Ian, waiting for him to open his eyes and make contact, grinning when he did. "Omerta is the code of silence I had to take when I was inducted," he explained, trailing his other hand back up Ian's chest and to his mouth, pressing two fingers to the ginger's parted lips. He immediately took them into his mouth, running his tongue over them and sucking eagerly, much to Mickey's satisfaction. "Omerta protects me and everyone else from incarceration," he continued slowly, pumping his hand over Ian, whose eyebrows drew together as he arched off the bed and groaned. "And the one thing it's taught me- so far at least- is just how important it is to know when to keep your mouth shut," he finished, looking up at Ian's heavy lidded, aroused eyes. 

He leaned down and ran his tongue along Ian's cock, shedding him of his boxers completely and discarding them. "Do you know why I'm telling you this, Ian?" he raised an eyebrow, retrieving his fingers from his boyfriend's eager mouth. He whimpered a little in response, tugging at his restraints and nodded his head. "Am I gonna have to get another tie for your mouth?" he threatened, dipping his head to take Ian into his mouth without breaking eye contact. Ian shook his head, biting hard into his lip as his eyes rolled back in his head. 

Mickey almost feared he was even more turned on than Ian as his erection fucking throbbed in his pants. He started bobbing his head over Ian, letting his eyes flutter shut so he could savor Ian's taste and feel in his mouth, digging his fingers into the ginger's thighs hard enough to leave marks. He felt the gasps and attempts to stay quiet through Ian's whole body and pulled off of him with a pop, looking up with pleasure to see Ian looking pained, his teeth still buried in his lip. 

Mickey stepped off the bed, looking down at Ian panting as he began unbuttoning his vest before tossing it on the floor with a grin. The ginger's breath caught when they made eye contact and Mickey winked, kicking his pants away and tossing off his dress shirt, leaving him standing naked before a bound Ian. He reached into his drawer and grabbed a condom and lube before returning to Ian. He wasted no time getting the condom onto his boyfriend, being sure to stroke his shaft on the way down. 

Ian turned his head to the side, his chest rising and falling heavily as he visibly struggled to remain quiet. Mickey slicked a fair amount of lube onto Ian before crawling up his body so they were face to face. When Ian faced Mickey, he was immediately kissed, and didn't hesitate to whine loudly into Mickey's mouth, forcing his tongue into his boyfriend's mouth rough and needy as he did so. 

Mickey lined himself up with Ian and sank down slowly, groaning at the hot burn of Ian within him along with the lips beneath his. He knew Ian had been struggling, but apparently didn't realize just how much, especially considering the fact that he tasted blood in the ginger's mouth, likely from biting his lip too hard. The thought of Ian needing to literally bite his own lip open to keep from moaning went straight to his dick, and he reached down with one hand to relieve himself at least a little. 

He started rocking back and forth on Ian, whose head rolled back again. Mickey's eyebrows furrowed in pleasure and he stroked himself slowly, leaning down to kiss Ian's neck. He wasn't sure exactly how he was able to maintain so many things at once when he could barely keep kissing Ian when the ginger was in control. Now here he was, multitasking the fuck out of his boyfriend and savoring every noise he started making. 

Ian was really bad at that. When he came up to look at Ian, still rolling his hips, finding the perfect angle to hit his prostate. Ian's noises didn't quiet as he made eye contact with Mickey, though his green irises seemed to light up. He reached forward, pressing his hand over Ian's mouth and immediately rocking on him faster. Ian eagerly kissed his palm and ran his tongue along it, his moans muffled by his boyfriends tattooed fingers. 

He looked down and saw that Mickey was stroking himself along with riding him, and his eyes rolled before closing. His hands were tugging so hard at his restraints that Mickey almost wanted to let him out- angry, desperate Ian would leave bruises and go about his business roughly, and the thought turned Mickey on more than he could possibly say. He made the decision to do so quickly, eager to feel Ian's harsh fingers on him. He continued rocking on Ian and reached up to the tie, feeling Ian's eyes on him the whole time. 

The moment his hands were free, he hand one arm around Mickey's waist and the latter was being flipped onto his back. His left hand found Mickey's and he laced their fingers together and used it for leverage as he began pounding into his boyfriend roughly. A thrilled, pleasured grin ghosted Mickey's lips as he reached up and held the back of Ian's neck, leading him back down to kiss him. With his free hand, Ian reached between them and started pumping his hand quickly over Mickey's shaft, speeding up his own thrusts and, as always, hitting his boyfriend's prostate immediately. 

Mickey groaned into Ian's mouth, the ginger's teeth scraping over his lip before releasing it. Ian moved his mouth to Mickey's neck and sucked at it immediately. "No one is even gonna fucking think about touching you when I'm done," he promised, and Mickey's eyes rolled back. 

Being in control of Ian was fun, and incredibly hot, but nothing beat having the ginger slam into him and whisper filthy things in his ear from above. He tilted his head to the side to give him better access before he felt himself about to come. 

"Ian, I-"

"Not yet," he growled, stilling his hand on Mickey's cock. Like that was gonna fucking help when Ian was still pounding onto him roughly like that. He whined a little, silenced by Ian's lips. He raised his now free hand to Mickey's neck, squeezing tightly as they both climbed higher and higher. Finally, with a final peck, Ian's fingers tightened as he whispered, "Now."

They came together, and Ian released his throat just in time, causing Mickey to spill all over his chest. He sucked in a deep breath, coughing a little as he tried to catch his breath. His breathing was shaky and erratic as Ian pulled out of him and rid himself of the condom, wiping Mickey off before collapsing beside him. "Fuck," he breathed, looking over at a guilty looking Ian. He started sitting up, still panting. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Gallagher," he greeted, all the angry, jealous and fully rational thoughts came flooding back to him. 

"Mickey-"

He smacked Ian's chest with the back of his hand without any real force and shoved away from him, shimmying back into his briefs. "You're a fucking idiot," he shot at Ian, now standing beside the bed and looking down at him. "You thought, 'Well Mickey told me not to fuck him, so I'll just do some fucking coke with him instead'!" he began shouting running a hand through his hair. "And don't even get me started on your little fucking show in the kitchen- real fucking mature, Ian!" 

"You called me 'his twink' and said that it was none of my business!" he yelled back, sitting up in the bed and looking around for his own underwear. "It is my fucking business to know whether you're safe or not, you inconsiderate dipshit!" 

Mickey scoffed, throwing Ian's boxers at him from where he spotted them on the ground. "No, it's not. I don't know how many times I have to explain to you that my work is none of your fucking business," he growled, throwing a hand in the air. "You don't seem to process that the less you know, the safer you are! Does me trying to protect you really make me the inconsiderate dipshit, or would that be the asshole who got all spiteful and suddenly decided to rub himself all over some geriatric viagrite! How the fuck do you expect me to trust that you're not gonna fuck that motherfucker when I'm not around if you do that kinda shit when I am?" he burst angrily, turning around and shaking his head. 

"You could at least pretend to be nice to me while we're there, Mickey, even if you're uncomfortable-"

"No, what fucking planet do you live on, Gallagher? Pretending that you're just some boy toy Rossi has been fucking with is the safest plan in the goddamn book," he shot back, tugging at his hair. "Tell me you suggested drugs as an alternative to sex, otherwise I don't see what the fucking point was. Were you looking to get fucked up? Did you wanna scare the fucking shit out of me when I found you completely out of it on his fucking couch!?"

Ian rolled his eyes and stood up, now face to face with his raging boyfriend. "You wanna lecture me about doing drugs with Rossi? You drove home shitfaced in the middle of the night after a meeting with him," he growled lowly. "And no, Mickey, if you must know, I was seeing what Rossi's fucking tolerance is, out of my own personal fucking curiosity, he suggested I do something, and coke seemed a hell of a lot safer than fucking heroin, wouldn't you agree!?"

Mickey averted his eyes- it was the lesser of two evils, he had to admit. "You still didn't have to be an asshole and get all touchy with that bastard right in front of me," he mumbled, refusing to meet Ian's eyes. 

"You still didn't have to be an asshole and tell him not to tell me what Mason did to you," he replied pointedly, reaching up to rest his hands gently on Mickey's shoulders, urging him to look up. He finally did, feeling a little guilty. Ian did deserve to know why his friend got hit by a car, but Mickey knew that he would just freak the fuck out when he found out that Mason had been trying to kill him. 

He took in a shaky breath and licked his lips. "Okay, but you have to promise not to go crazy," he said warily, and Ian's eyebrows furrowed but he nodded. "Some people- only like two- think that your friend Nathan and I have some... similar features," he began, swallowing nervously, and tracing his fingers on Ian's chest to distract him a little. "And, he was at the Shop and Go, on his way out actually, when Mason mistook him for me, and..."

Ian pushed him away a little, but kept his hands on Mickey's shoulders, a bewildered look crossing his features. "Mason tried to fucking kill you!? Is that why he's in jail right now!? And he ended up hitting one of my best friends instead!?" he burst, eyes wild. 

"You said you wouldn't go crazy!" Mickey reminded him, unsuccessfully attempting to placate his boyfriend. 

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "You should have fucking told me, Mickey. I deserve to fucking know why my friend got hit by a car and that someone tried to fucking kill you," he said, and he was right, Mickey acknowledged that. But that didn't mean it didn't unnecessary stress to his boyfriend's already stressed brain. 

"I'm sorry," he confessed, and Ian sighed before leaning down and kissing him, easing his worries at least a little.

***

Later that night, Mickey got a call from Rossi, requesting that he come back in so they could discuss some things. He informed Ian, who rolled his eyes and huffed as he fell back against the couch and crossed his arms. He retreated to his room and got dressed, leaving the tie, vest and suit coat out of himself. When he came back into the living room, he found his boyfriend in the same position, still pouting. 

"I'm sorry," he sighed, although it wasn't really his fault. 

"Yeah, whatever," he said, keeping his gaze on the television. Mickey rolled his eyes and leaned down to kiss him, resting a hand on the back of his neck. Ian kissed him back, the pout obvious on his lips as Mickey pulled away. 

"I love you," he chimed, knowing it always perked Ian up to hear. The ginger scoffed and mumbled it back before Mickey gathered his things and walked to the door, shooting a wink to Ian. He got the middle finger in return, but rolled his eyes fondly and left anyways, being sure the door was locked before he went on his not so merry way. 

The familiar ride to Rossi's was short and uneventful, a lot anxious if anything. Did Benny say something to him? He doubted it, but that didn't mean it wasn't still a dangerously possible scenario. 

The moment he walked into the house, though, he knew something was up that was at no fault of Benny's. Rossi was in a rough state of high- to the point where he was raging and throwing shit. There was glass shattered beneath Mickey's feet the moment he stepped into the house, and Rossi whipped around, a gun in his hand. 

"Well, look who decided to show the fuck up," he slurred, and Mickey glanced to the table, where there were more needles than there had been when he was there a few hours ago. "Did you say some stupid shit to Mason? Ducky went in... told me the Fed told him you were- flirty or something." He touched the pistol to his head and tapped it there as he tried to remember his train of thought. Mickey was standing at attention, ready to dodge a bullet at any moment. "But you were hinting at some shit," he added, "and it seemed like you knew something. They also didn't fail to see the similarities between you and a certain Mr. Ferrari," he growled, approaching Mickey slowly. He stood perfectly still, acting as the soldier he was now subjected to be. 

"I didn't say anything straight to Mason about shit," he quickly said, trying to mend the situation. "I said that I was gonna be his PO when he got out, but it was a joke, and there was no way they could take it to mean anything else-"

He was cut off by a heavy, painful slam of metal coming down hard against his right cheek as Rossi pistol whipped him. "The feds take everything seriously!" he shouted at Mickey, who was seeing stars as he looked back up at Rossi and tried to focus on his face. "Ducky will fix it, don't you worry, but you're letting your personal problems with Mason affect the fucking business- and what the fuck did I tell you about that?" he seethed to Mickey, pressing the barrel of the pistol at the young man's temple. Mickey wasn't worried about Rossi killing him- now that he was made, there had to be a much better reason to off him. What he was worried about, was just how easily he seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness, and the warm blood he felt dripping down his cheek.

"Don't fucking bother," he hissed, grabbing a handful of Mickey's shirt and shoving him away. "Review this fucking sheet and make sure Benny did his collections right," he demanded, grabbing a sheet of paper from the table and shoving it into Mickey's hand. "Get the fuck out of my sight."

Mickey didn't waste any time getting the fuck out of the house and swallowed thickly, unsure of what to do. There was no way in hell he would be able to drive, and he couldn't easily go to the hospital and tell them that his boss got angry and decided to pistol whip him. 

The thought occurred to him relatively quickly, and he dug his wallet from his pocket, finding the business card with more difficulty than he'd care to admit. He dialed the number, and the phone rang three times before the familiar voice answered. 

"Hello?"

"Elliot," Mickey breathed deeply, using all of his energy to keep from passing out. "It's Mickey Milkovich. I need your help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you are all so precious with your sweet little "you deserve rest"s and shit omfg  
> ya'll i love providing this shit for you more than anything, but i also get just as much, if not more, out of writing it than you do reading it. i literally love developing this story more and more.   
> also i think i'm gonna aim for fifty chapters, but there's a lot of shit that's unresolved so that just means chapters are gonna start getting longer ;)  
> i love you, my effervescent smut loving rainbow iguanas  
> please continue your beautiful amazing comments <3 <3 <3  
> updates coming soon


	39. Chapter 39

Mickey must have dozed off behind the wheel, because by the time Elliot and his crew came around, he had to tear his eyelids open, a light immediately blinding him. "Milkovich!" the doctor snapped sharply, "Eyes on me," he commanded, and Mickey blinked wearily to focus, squinting away from the light. 

"If you don't move that light I'll shove it up your fuckin' ass," he mumbled, turning his head away. Elliot laughed good naturedly and tugged on Mickey to get him out of the car, catching him immediately when he stumbled. "Hey, hey, hey," Mickey slurred, putting his hands up to show that he could stand fine on his own. "I'll let you know that I am in a relationship," he said, keeping Elliot from touching him. He got dizzy a moment later, though, and grabbed onto the doctor's arms. "Don't tell him about this," he muttered, using every ounce of might he had to keep himself upright. 

"Elliot, get him over here," a female voice commanded, and the doctor warily raised his hands to guide Mickey over to their SUV, doing his best not to touch him. 

Before he could make it to the car- that had it's trunk open for him to crawl into- he bent over and threw up, unaware of the face that he even had to vomit at all. "What the  _fuck,"_ he groaned, wiping his mouth before he stood up. 

"Come on, Milkovich," Elliot urged, helping Mickey into the trunk that replicated the inside of an ambulance. The seats were all folded down and there were oxygen tanks, an IV, a bed and bags everywhere. It was an admittedly impressive set up, but Mickey didn't have time to admire it because of the throbbing in his cheek. "What happened?" he asked, making sure Mickey's head was at a good angle on the pillow. 

He shrugged, "Son of a bitch pistol whipped me hard as fuck." He didn't understand why he was being such a pussy about it- he'd been pistol whipped before- granted it had never been that hard, but he didn't really consider himself susceptible to concussions. 

"He probably hit your temple, that's why you're so knocked up," he said, going about checking Mickey's vitals while periodically looking up and murmuring things to the pretty brunette woman to Mickey's left. 

"Where the fuck are you guys even taking me?" he asked a little nervously. He had instinctively trusted the doctor since he was, in fact, a  _doctor._ And he'd seemed nice enough; Mickey would be able to take care of himself if they were trying to kidnap him or some shit, but it definitely wouldn't be pleasant considering how hard it was for him to keep his eyes in focus. 

Elliot laughed a little, "The hospital."

"What? You fucking told me there wouldn't be any hospitals," he groaned, closing his eyes. 

"It'll be in a separate facility than the normal patients," he explained, handing the clipboard over to the woman. "We'll get you in and stitched up, then monitor you for a bit to make sure you don't slip into a coma or see any signs of bleeding or fracture, okay? Do you want us to call someone for you?"

Mickey groaned, feeling abnormally confused. He wanted Ian, but knew that he would freak out seeing Mickey in such a position. It seemed every time he saw Ian outside the house it was at a hospital where he was being treated for a new injury. He sighed, his finger being clamped into a heart monitor. "Uh, yeah, my sister," he nodded, jolting a little as every move sent a burst of pain through his skull. "Fuck," he mumbled. He didn't know whether she'd be available since she wasn't home when he'd left the house and he didn't know how long he had been out. "Tell her to leave Ian home," he muttered. He wasn't taking any more fucking chances of Ian running into anyone dangerous, especially when Rossi had acted like that.

Elliot reached out for his phone, handing it to Mickey to enter her number. He squinted at the screens brightness and entered it with a lot of difficulty. The doctor raised the phone to his ear and looked out the back of the trunk as the woman started unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his chest. 

"Woah, bitch, I have a boyfriend," he assured her, putting up a hand. She chuckled a little, but unbuttoned it to his bellybutton before reaching to her side and peeling the backs off of a small collection of heart monitors she had. "Oh," he conceded, watching as the woman stuck them all over his chest before pulling the finger monitor off of him. 

"We'll let him know how loyal you are," she smiled, and Mickey's eyes drooped shut as he gave her a thumbs up. 

Elliot tapped Mickey's right shoulder, asking what his sister's name was. He rattled it off in a slurred voice just before his doctor straightened up a bit. "Hello, is this Mandy Milkovich?" he asked and Mickey could practically feel the worry emanating from the phone. "Well we're currently transporting your brother to the hospital, it looks like he has a moderate to severe concussion and a fairly deep laceration on his cheekbone that will definitely need stitches," he explained into the phone, looking to where the wound on his face was a little dried up but still dripping blood down Mickey's cheek. 

"Can I talk to her?" he asked, his speech slurred. 

Elliot put up a finger before nodded. "Yes, ma'am, if you'd like to meet us at the hospital, you'll need to come to the back building," he said before rattling off some instructions and an address. "Your brother says to leave Ian home, by the way," he added. "And he wants to speak to you."

A second later, he put the call on speaker, probably so Mickey wouldn't get it all bloody. "Hey, Mands," he greeted gently, every noise feeling like another smack to his brain. 

"Mickey what the fuck happened!?" she shouted, and Mickey closed his eyes tight. 

"Rossi happened," he said, and that was explanation enough. "Make sure you don't bring Ian," he reminded her. "I'll be fine in a bit, the motherfucker just pistol whipped me."

She sighed deeply, "Did you at least hit him back?"

"You know I can't do that, Mandy," he returned, his eyes still shut. "Come whenever you can. My car is still in front of his house."

She sighed again. "Alright, well Ian is at his friend Nathan's house, so he would be the only person I could get a ride from. He can drive his friend's car back home then drop me off at the Mustang so I can come to the hospital. I have your spare keys," she reminded him, and Elliot's hand on his arm jolted him awake as he started falling asleep again. 

"Yeah, okay, do that, but don't let Ian follow you, okay? Make sure he goes back home right away," he instructed before realizing what she'd said. "He went to his Ferrari's house?"

"Okay, I'll be there soon," she said before hanging up abruptly. 

Mickey sighed before looking up at the doctor, whose eyes were set on the windshield. "Alright, we're just about here," he informed Mickey. "Pull right up to the door, Cam, we need to get this cut stitched up."

The driver- Cam- did exactly that, and Mickey turned his face from the blinding "Emergency" sign. How this didn't count as the hospital, he wasn't sure, but at that point he didn't care. The three doctors lifted the entire bed from the trunk and popped it up so they could roll Mickey inside. Once they were rolling down the hallway, it made a little more sense- it looked less like a hospital hallway and more like a motel or something, although it was still clean and really empty. 

Once they entered a room though, it was identical to any ER room he'd ever been in. They wheeled him in and set him up to all of the monitors lining the wall above the bed before Elliot rolled up next to him on a stool, supplies to tend to his cut in his hands. Mickey twitched away a little when he reached for his face before looking the doctor up and down and returning to his former position, letting Elliot cup his jaw and clean the blood. As the alcohol wipe stung his cheek he bit his tongue a little, still finding it hard to fall asleep. 

"Are we gonna need a CAT scan?" the female doctor asked, and Elliot tilted his head to the side, studying Mickey before shaking his head. 

"I don't think so, we'll keep an eye on him for sure, though," he answered, a distracted tinge in his voice. He rolled a cart with needles and it and selected one, already starting the process of stitching Mickey. 

He gazed sideways at Elliot and blinked a few times, "You aren't gonna numb me?" he asked, and the doctor scoffed. 

"We rarely numb people before we stitch them. You really think you need it?"

"I don't need that pussy shit," Mickey sniffed, looking away as the needle pinched his skin.

***

By the time Mandy came rushing into the hospital room, Mickey had come to a bit more, sipping a white soda to help with his nausea and watching whatever trashy soap opera was playing on the television. 

"Mickey!" she gasped upon seeing him. She rushed to the bedside, tears in her eyes as she sat on the doctor's stool. "Can you stop fucking getting hurt?" she asked, blinking rapidly. 

He furrowed his eyebrows and reached over to place a hand over hers where it rested on his arm. "I'm fine, Mands," he assured halfheartedly, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

"This is bullshit," she shook her head, swallowing thickly. "I thought that you said it would get better now that you're made, but you were never this roughed up before," she said quietly, and Mickey looked down guiltily. "I just worry about you, Mick, I know that you say there's nothing I can do and you can handle it, but it doesn't matter."

He sighed, moving his hand away again and looking away. "I get that you don't like seeing this happening but it's all part of the job. It'll get better," he replied, though he didn't even sound convincing to himself. That was bullshit, and they both knew it. The longer he was in it, the worse it would get and the more he'd come home stumbling from blood loss or end up in a shady undercover hospital with a doctor that seemed a little too interested in him. 

"Yeah..." she said quietly, taking a deep breath. "Maybe it will," she added, though they both knew they were only saying it to try and make themselves feel better. 

He took a sip of his soda, still trying to settle his angry stomach. "How's Ian?" he asked, more concerned with how his boyfriend was doing than himself. 

Mandy snorted, rolling her eyes. "He's going crazy," she shrugged. "He like begged me to come with to see you and shutting him down was tough. I had to tell him that I'd bring you home with me and you'd be fine a million times before he got angry and left."

"Fuck," Mickey sighed, running a hand through his hair. Every time he spoke or even moved his nose a bit, his stitches stung in his cheek. "Yeah, he's not gonna take this well," he said, pointing to the stitches. 

"What the fuck even happened with that, Mick?" she asked, reaching up and softly touching the tender skin around it, that was undoubtedly bruised as fuck. He hadn't really looked at himself since it happened. 

He swallowed thickly, licking his lips. "I had to go visit Mason in jail, and I might have made a few threats- in metaphor form, obviously- but the feds caught on. Rossi got pissed at me and he was super high, so," he shrugged. "Can't exactly fight back."

"Why the fuck not, Mickey? You could take that guy no fuckin' problem," she said, shaking her head. "Why not just get him the fuck out of the way?"

He glanced up at the TV, raising his drink to his lips. "That's not how it works, Mandy."

She nodded in silent understanding, folding her arms on the edge of Mickey's mattress before resting her head on them. He sighed, setting the cup down and thinking about what he had to do tomorrow and who he could pawn his tasks off on. Benny was an obvious choice, but one of his duties was to make sure said choice hadn't fucked up his collections, so that would be counterproductive. He could always hit up Sam, but he didn't know how great of an idea that would be since the dealer often had a shit ton of runs to make and was pretty easily distracted. 

"Also, that doctor you have?" Mandy said suddenly, her head lifting a bit to look up at her brother. "He is one  _fine_ fucking specimen."

Mickey's eyes fluttered shut and he laughed a little. When he opened them she had a questioning look on her face. "I don't know what his deal is, Mands, but you go for it," he shrugged. "I thought he seemed a little... friendly, but who knows?"

She considered and shrugged. "Don't have to tell me twice," she mumbled before setting her head back down. 

They sat in silence for another couple minutes, and Mickey got embarrassingly invested in the soap opera, going so far as to gasp when one of the particularly obnoxious male characters cheated on his girlfriend. Thankfully, he was broken from his shameful act as someone knocked softly on the door before Elliot popped his head in. 

"Mr. Milkovich, how are you feeling?" he asked, stepping in and closing the door behind him. Mandy sat up a little straighter, casually pulling her tank top down a bit. 

Mickey shrugged, "Better, I guess. Can I go home? How much do I owe you? There's no record of me being here, right?"

"You can go home, as long as your sister drives," he answered, giving Mandy a pointed look. She responded with a flirty smile, which Elliot returned. Mickey rolled his eyes. "You only owe us for the supplies, so you're looking at around $364," he shrugged, and Mickey's eyebrows furrowed. 

"That's it?" he asked, surprised at just how affordable that was. "You guys do this nonprofit, then?" he asked and Elliot nodded. 

"That's so generous!" Mandy said with a grin. 

Elliot smiled a little shyly and returned his gaze to Mickey. "You can pay however you want, and it doesn't have to be right now. We'll have you on a list until you can pay it, then we'll cross you off," he explained. "Other than that, there's no record of your visit. You can head out whenever you want; thank you for taking me up on my offer, we're always happy to see people getting the care they need," he said with a curt nod before returning his gaze to Mandy. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Mandy, despite the circumstances. If you ever need anything, your brother has my card," he said, reaching his hand out to shake hers. Mickey rolled his eyes again at the obvious flirting. At least he wasn't concerned that Elliot was hitting on him anymore. 

With that, he smiled at the pair one more time before leaving. Mickey scoffed, "Subtle." Mandy just flipped him off and slammed the rest of his soda before standing up. "Whore."

"Let's get the fuck going," she said, gesturing for Mickey to stand. He got a little dizzy once he was on his feet, and Mandy put her arm around his waist to keep him standing. He threw his around her shoulders, thankful to have something to lean on since he was still pretty unsteady. 

The familiar brunette from the makeshift ambulance waved at them as they left and shouted a, "Feel better!" 

Mickey nodded at her, letting Mandy pull him outside and breathing in deeply once the crisp wind bit at his face. When they made it to the Mustang, he slid reluctantly into the passenger's seat, always a little wary when Mandy drove it. She started it and pulled out before turning on the headlights, already earning a stern scold from her brother. She rolled her eyes and flicked them on. 

Ready to assess the damage to his face, Mickey pulled down his mirror and grimaced as the light hit his face. It was definitely worse than he had expected. His right cheek was bruised from beneath his cheekbone into his eye socket and just above his brow bone. The bruise was a combination of purple, yellow and blue, and the wide cut added a touch of red and black to the rainbow. It was wider than he had expected- Rossi  _really_ must have had adrenaline pumping to do that much damage on Mickey. He sighed, studying the rest of his face. His lips were chapped and the bags under his eyes were deep and dark, easily portraying the stress that had been put on him lately. 

The bruise from Mason's punch after his induction was still fading on the left side of his face, so that was a dull, bile yellow. Basically, he looked like a real life Picasso portrait. He sighed and popped the mirror back up before glancing at Mandy. 

She looked over and saw his distressed face. "Yeah, sorry, man, you look like shit," she shrugged. "But you have the whole badass thing going for you, right? Doesn't that get your boyfriend going?" 

"Please," Mickey scoffed. "It gets my boyfriend going into hour long lectures about my personal health and safety and his concern for me."

She made a noise akin to a squeal and grinned. "That's adorable. You actually have someone who cares about you," she sighed and addded, "young love."

"Fuck that gay shit," he scoffed, leaning his arm against the window and resting his head in his palm. 

She snorted, "Mickey, I've heard you tell Ian you love him like twelve times before."

"I've only ever said it like four!" he shot back before realizing he'd just lost at his own game. "Shut the fuck up."

***

Mickey hesitated outside the apartment door, fidgeting with his hands nervously. Ian was going to ride his  _ass_ when he finally saw Mickey's face, and not in the good way. He would throw a fit, talk about doing something stupid to Rossi and then yell at his boyfriend for putting himself in dangerous positions that he had no control over. 

Mandy tapped her foot impatiently, arms crossed before she looked at her phone. "Alright, you know what, this is ridiculous, you pussy ass motherfucker," she finally snapped, throwing the door open and stomping into the apartment. 

Mickey cursed her silently, shuffling in slowly behind her only to see Ian doing crunches on the floor, shirtless. He stopped once he saw Mandy walk in and started standing to meet her, pausing when Mickey trailed in a moment later. His jaw went slack, and his lips parted a little in surprise. 

"Mickey," he said quietly, eyebrows furrowing. 

Mandy stood by awkwardly, but looking fully engaged in their meeting. "Told you I'd be back in a few hours," Mickey chuckled, shrugging a little.

Ian shook his head, "When the fuck is this gonna stop, Mick?"

"Come on, Gallagher, I can't deal with you busting my balls tonight, okay? I'm fucking tired, my face hurts and I just wanna go to bed," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Can we just sleep right now and fight tomorrow? Please?"

Ian's face was stony as he just looked at Mickey, not answering for a few nerve wracking seconds. Eventually he sighed, and ran a hand through his own hair, nodding his head. "Yeah, baby, we can do that," he conceded, though his voice still held a certain stiffness that showed he was still tense. 

It made Mickey nervous to hear that, and he panicked for a second that Ian would be so mad that he wouldn't sleep in the bedroom with him, but eased up a bit when he came over and kissed him gently. "Thanks," he muttered, looking up at his boyfriend cautiously. 

Ian simply nodded and looked at Mandy, obviously still angry with her for not letting him come with to the hospital. She simply put her hands up in surrender at his hard glare. "Hey, I'm not the one who pistol whipped him, that would be your other boyfriend," she said before snapping her mouth shut and pressing her lips together. She smacked herself in the head, "Fuck, Mandy you shouldn't've said that. You should  _not_ have said that."

Mickey rolled his eyes and flipped her off before grabbing Ian's arm and tugging him to the bedroom. "Night, bitch," he called before shutting the door behind him. 

Once the door was shut, he looked up at Ian nervously, shifting uncomfortably. His boyfriend rolled his eyes and tugged Mickey to him by the back of the neck, planting a relieved kiss onto his mouth. Mickey raised his hands to Ian's back, kissing back with the same amount of relief, though it was for admittedly different reasons. When he reached up to cup Mickey's cheeks, though, he gasped and flinched away. 

"Fuck," Ian sighed, pulling away and studying the giant fucking bruise on Mickey's face. He stroked it gently with his thumb, being sure to miss the actual stitches. When he looked back into Mickey's curious and worried eyes, he furrowed his eyebrows before leaning down and kissing his forehead. "Let's go to bed."

They brushed their teeth quickly, and Mickey had to hide that fact that every brush felt like agony on his cut, finishing as fast as possible so Ian wouldn't flip shit. When he finished, he stripped down to his underwear, flopping into bed. He prayed silently as Ian finished in the bathroom that he wouldn't sleep with his back to him. As hard as it was for him to even admit to himself, he really just needed to feel Ian's arms around him and feel his hard body cuddled against him. 

He heard Ian turn off the bathroom light and feel his way back to the bed, sliding in under the covers a moment later. He clearly laid on his back for a few minutes, breathing deeply. Mickey chewed the inside of his cheek, disappointed. After a few more agonizing moments, Ian breathed out loudly and turned onto his side, putting an arm around Mickey's waist and tugging him closer so his back was pressed against Ian's front. Mickey immediately relaxed and snuggled closer, closing his eyes when he felt a soft kiss pressed to the back of his neck. 

Eventually, wanting to be even closer to Ian, Mickey flipped onto his other side, careful for his arm, and shuffled forward to close the gap between their bodies, sighing  when Ian stretched his arm out beneath Mickey's head for him to use it as a pillow and wrapped his other one around Mickey's back, bending it to run his fingers through the dark hair. Mickey nuzzled into Ian's chest and wrapped his arm around the muscled torso, barely having enough in him to be embarrassed by how clingy he was being. After Ian leaned his head down and kissed the top of Mickey's head, he finally allowed himself to slip off, finally content with how close he was to his boyfriend. 

***

Ian woke up alone in bed, but Mickey was still in the bedroom, sitting at his desk across from the bed, bent over his computer. He chewed on the end of pencil and scribbled down a few notes before returning to typing in the document he had pulled up. 

He'd been working on the expense reports for the new Rub and Tug for an hour and a half now, surprised at just how awake he'd been when he actually woke up. His mind still felt sluggish and he was dizzy whenever he stood up, but his body was wide awake. He took two Vicodin the moment he woke up, ready to numb all the pain throbbing practically everywhere in his body. 

He was almost done typing up the reports, though he had some things he needed to figure out with Svetlana, and their whole posse of prostitutes. Based on the location and class of the establishment, the prices were pretty lofty, meaning that everyone would be getting paid more than they ever had in the past. In addition, it meant they had room on their staff for another manager besides Mickey, fucking Caleb and sometimes Svetlana. Of course, he would be giving the position to Mandy, who he knew he could trust with all the necessary tasks. Once he got Caleb cut, they'd all earn even more, too, which would be excellent. 

Mickey would be able to rake in enough to keep himself afloat while still putting money into Rossi's depleting bank account. Still, he was considering talking to Sam about dealing a bit- as his associate had said, "Everyone deals".

Mickey's typing came to a halt as he heard rustling come from the bed. He turned in his chair to see Ian sitting up, head in hand as he watched Mickey. "Good morning, Red," he greeted, a little dazed from his medication, but not enough to forget he'd promised to fight with Ian in the morning. He just hoped Ian would want to pretend that everything was okay for a little longer. 

"Morning," he said in his low 'just-woke-up' sexy voice. "How'd you sleep?"

Mickey shrugged indifferently, but in reality, he'd been able to stay asleep throughout the whole night, more than comfortable cuddling with Ian, despite the ongoing threat of heat exhaustion. The deep sleep he'd fallen into explained his perkiness the next day, though. "Pretty well, I guess," he finally said. "You?"

"Yeah," he agreed, running a hand through his messy hair. "So..." he began, and Mickey immediately deflated a little. "Did you at least get a couple of good hits in?"

Mickey scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Please," he said, shaking his head. 

"What? Come on, you could take Rossi, no question," he said, standing from the bed and walking to the bathroom, where he immediately began brushing his teeth. 

Mickey sighed, looking up as he explained once again, "Yes, but that's not how this works. You know that I can't touch him. Why does everyone keep forgetting that?"

Ian returned only a moment later and made his way to the desk, turning Mickey's swivel chair to face him and crawling onto his boyfriend's lap to straddle him. Mickey tried to hide is relieved grin, settling his hands on Ian's thighs. Ian leaned down and kissed a line down down Mickey's throat gently, and the latter shut his eyes to indulge himself. When he moved his hand up to palm Ian through his boxers, he pulled away and moved Mickey's hand. 

"What?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

Ian crossed his arms, but didn't make a move to leave Mickey's lap. "No," he said simply. "You told me all this would get better now that you're made and that you would have more respect, but it just seems like you're Rossi's bitch now," he said with a shrug. "So now you're gonna be my bitch, too, and I say no sex, bitch."

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed immediately. "How the fuck is that fair?" he asked, sliding his hand up Ian's thigh again and getting it smacked in the process. "Now I'm supposed to be two people's bitch?" Really, he was already Ian's bitch and everyone knew it- anything the redhead did or asked him to do wouldn't even gauge a question or a second thought from Mickey. 

"It's fair because you lied to me," he said, pressing his cold hands onto Mickey's chest. "So, second base is our limit," he said, leaning forward and kissing his boyfriend. "Until I say so at least." He deepened the kiss quickly and Mickey hummed a little, letting out a surprised grunt when Ian leaned forward and rolled his hips into Mickey's. Didn't he just say no sex?? He pulled away just barely a moment later and said, "Now finish your work."

Mickey sighed, squeezing Ian's hips before nodding. "I guess I should," he conceded, tilting his head back a little and asking, "One more?" Ian answered with another kiss, reaching one hand down and cupping Mickey roughly. Just as he started getting more turned on, Ian pecked him once more quickly and stood up. 

"Something to remember me by," he said with a wink before making his way out of the bedroom, leaving Mickey dumbfounded with his jaw hanging open at the desk.

"Fuck you, Gallagher!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i took a day off because i'm gonna get carpal tunnel if i keep typing at that rate  
> however  
> i made this chapter long as fuck lmfao  
> i hope i eased some of your worries at least a little lol  
> please please comment you precious water buffalo  
> love you!! updates coming soon <3


	40. Chapter 40

Mickey spent most of his day sitting at the desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork he had no desire to do. No one had told him that more than anything, being made meant that he had to read and write a bunch of shit. 

As he looked through Benny's notes about doing collections, he chewed the inside of is lip. The kid did pretty well- Mickey didn't notice anything wrong or any miscalculated numbers, but he could count a few things he would have done differently. 

After watching Mickey bent over his work for hours, Ian walked back over and placed his hands on his boyfriends shoulders, rubbing the painful knots in them. "Fuck, man, that hurts," he hissed, rolling his shoulders back. 

"You need to relax," he whispered, leaning down and pressing his lips to Mickey's neck. 

He scoffed, tossing his pencil aside and reaching up to rub his tired eyes and winced when he pressed on his bruise. He still hadn't really spoken to Rossi about what had happened, and he imagined that he probably never would. Nothing he said would do anything to mend the situation  _or_ his face, so really there wasn't a point. He couldn't get back at Rossi- now that he was made, he was- just as Ian had said- Gustavo's bitch. He could do anything he wanted to Mickey and he couldn't fight back. 

"That's likely," he responded, turning to look up at Ian and squinting at the light- his head had been throbbing all day and he hadn't moved to take anything yet. 

Ian sighed and knelt down in front of Mickey, placing and elbow on either thigh and resting his chin in his hands. "You're supposed to get lots of rest after a concussion," he said matter-of-factly. Mickey rolled his eyes. "That's what the doctors say! Even though I didn't get to speak to  _your_ doctor. The one Mandy says is fine as hell." After thinking about it, he pulled back and crossed his arms, still kneeling. 

"You can't come to the hospital when I'm there, Ian. And if you ever want to, just remember what happened last time, okay? And anyways, Mandy said you were by Nathan's house. You never told me you were going over there," he said, suddenly curious about his boyfriend's activites.

Ian rolled his eyes. "Alright, go ahead and turn the spotlight onto me. I'll have you know, Mickey, that Nathan is doing quite well, since he's been  _resting_ after his injury. Plus, he was telling me about the charges being pressed against Mason," he explained, looking sideways at Mickey.

"Where does your little boyfriend get all this shit anyways, huh? I mean other than this case, what does he do that he has access to my records?" he asked, resting his pounding head on his hand. 

He sighed as Mickey sidestepped his pointed argument. "His brother is a Fed," he muttered, and Mickey straightened immediately, closing his eyes through the headache. 

"His brother is a fucking  _Fed!?_ You can't be hanging around this do-gooder motherfucker anymore," he said, shaking his head before stopping in pain again- he didn't realize just how much he moved his head. "Maybe  _you_ won't spill to the Feds, but if you tell him anything and he squeals, we're both fuckin' dead."

Ian groaned, leaning dramatically onto the desk. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything."

"Damn right, you shouldn't have! Ian, you realize that if the Feds find anything to use against me they will. Just because they don't have any real evidence doesn't mean they wouldn't dance around with their suspicions until someone rats," he sighed angrily, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

Ian reached up and touched his thigh before Mickey jerked away. "Are you really that fucking mad right now? Since when did you even care that much about law enforcement?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

"Since when d-? Oh my god, are you that fucking blind, Gallagher? I'm a hitman! I kill people for a living," he burst and Ian rolled his eyes again. "I know that it might be hard for you to comprehend, but that's a fucking felony. So yes, I care very much about law enforcement since they could throw me in the tank for the rest of my miserable fuckin' life."

Ian sat back on his ass, leaning against the desk and stretching his long ass legs out in front of him. "I haven't told him anything other than the fact that you're involved with some shady guys, so you don't have to worry about him having anything against you because of me," he admitted softly. "He and Benny have been talking, though."

This caught Mickey's attention and he paused, turning to look at Ian on his bedroom floor. "Nathan and Benny have been talking? How so? Since when? Have you heard any of their conversations?" he asked, firing off questions rapidly. If Mickey had placed his trust in a fucking rat, he would actually jump off a cliff.

"Um, okay wow. They've only talked a couple of times that I know of, since Nate got hit. I'm pretty sure most of it was Benny trying to convince him not to press charges and shit," he said, shrugging a bit. 

Mickey chewed his lip and sighed, "Okay, I need to go talk to Benny," he decided, standing up far too quickly. He reached out to the wall for support and held it until the blackness clouding his vision cleared and he could blink a little wearily. 

"Come on, baby, do you really think you should be going anywhere right now? Just stay home with me and rest, okay? Please?" Ian asked, taking a hold of Mickey's arm and trying to tug him towards the bed. 

"Look, Gallagher, as much as I want to do just that, if we have even a small chance at rats, I have to go take care of it," he said, pulling away gently. 

Ian groaned and pouted, crossing his arms. "Why do  _you_ have to do it? Benny isn't your responsibility," he pointed out and Mickey sighed deeply. 

"Whatever is Rossi's responsibility is my responsibility," he explained quietly. "It's shitty,  but it's reality."

Ian rolled his eyes, for the fucking twentieth time and looked away. "Fine," he snapped. "See you back home at midnight with a split lip and another fucking shiner." With that he turned and stomped out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

Mickey sighed deeply, nodding. That seemed about right. Even after being yelled at by his entitled little boyfriend, he got changed, growing dizzy every thirty fucking seconds before he finally finished. He cleared his throat and packed his Glock into his leather jacket, rubbing his head before continuing. Driving to Rossi's house was gonna be a  _bitch._ Even so, he bucked up and made sure he had his phone and wallet before leaving his room and heading unsteadily to the door. 

Once he reached the living room, he saw Mandy passed out cold on the couch as Full House reruns played on the television. Sitting by her feet was her ever loyal best friend, and the source of Mickey's affections. "I'm headin' out, Gallagher," he said, eyebrows raised a little. How Ian sent him off would determine just how angry he was. 

"Okay, bye," he replied, not even turning to look at him.

So, pretty fucking angry. Not only did he not get up and pin Mickey against a wall to plant a long, lingering goodbye kiss on him that would make him want to stay home, but he didn't even glance over at him. He sighed and grabbed his keys from the hook by the door, reaching for the handle. He wasn't going to chase after Ian like some bitch. 

"Are you just not gonna kiss me, or? What, just because you're made at me, you don't still love me?" he turned around before leaving. Maybe he would chase him a little.

Ian finally looked over at him angrily before his expression undoubtedly softened and he sighed, tossing the remote onto the couch before standing up. Mickey stood completely still by the door, not wanting to influence whatever Ian was going to do to him more than he already had. Ian approached him and glanced between his eyes on lips before reaching up and cradling the uninjured side of Mickey's face in his palm. 

After a moment of studying him, he leaned down, kissing him softly. It took Mickey a moment to kiss back, since he had been expecting an angry, rough kiss from his boyfriend. Nevertheless, he eagerly pressed his lips against Ian's and pulled him closer by the waist, holding him close and savoring the heat his body gave off. As always, when Mickey pulled away, Ian leaned down to press one more kiss on his lips before letting him go. 

"Of course I still love you," he said with a sigh. "You just irritate me."

Mickey nodded, smirking a little. "Well, yeah, that's a given," he responded. "I love you, too. I won't be gone that long, I just have to rough Benny up a bit, maybe pay a visit to your little boyfriend depending on what I find out."

Ian's eyebrows furrowed and he brushed Mickey's hair back from his face. "Stop calling him that," he commanded and Mickey scoffed. 

"Alright, Gallagher, whatever you say," he chuckled. He would keep calling Nathan Ian's boyfriend, because it made him way more affectionate toward Mickey. 

Which he hated. Obviously. Come on, he wasn't  _that_ gay. Except when Ian tugged him forward by the collar of his shirt like that. One breathtaking kiss later and Mickey was waltzing out the door. 

***

Unsurprisingly, Mickey had to pull over  _four_ times to try and regain his wits as he drove to the pool house, too dizzy or tired or confused to continue driving. Once he finally arrived, thirty minutes later, he knew he was in for quite a fucking night. Rossi and Benny were storming inside angrily from their black car, and Benny seemed to be the center of Gustavo's rage. 

Mickey clambered clumsily out of his Mustang and staggered across the street, stars littering his vision. He pushed through them, a little nervous about facing Rossi, but also unwilling to be a little bitch about it. 

He reached up and rang the doorbell, and not even a moment later, it swung open and an angry, "What?!" was directed at Mickey before Benny took a step back and settled a little. "Come on in, Mickey," he added with a sigh. 

The shorter man walked in feeling wary but exuding confidence and danger. "Where are you two coming from?"

Rossi was across the room, tossing his vest and suit coat onto the couch and loosening his tie. "Meeting with Andy Basetti about the fuckin' money he owes me when  _this one_ opens his fucking trap and tries to step in," he burst, pointing at Benny. The younger man sighed and looked away. 

"Fuck did he do?" Mickey asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

Rossi started rolling up his sleeves and searching through a bag of what Mickey could only assume were a collection of drugs as he spoke. "Starts asking Basetti why he needs the money, what he's doin' with it. Of course he tells some bullshit story about his son having cancer, so Einstein here asks me-  _in front of him-_ to give the bastard an extension," he concludes with a shout, pulling out a needle and tossing the rest of his supplies onto the table. 

"Well," Mickey began, glancing over at Benny, who looked a mixture of angry and ashamed as he looked down. "Benny is still pretty fresh, so he has to learn but... want me to take care of him?" he asked, watching Rossi from the back as he started tying a rubber band around his bicep. 

"Milkovich, you're the only bastard around here who knows a damn thing. Take care of him, just do it downstairs. Once Joey gets back from picking something up for me, I want you two to run some shit for me, alright?" he asked, sighing and letting his head fall back as he inserted the needle. 

Mickey simply nodded and made a sound of assent before grabbing Benny and dragging him to the staircase. After closing the door behind them, Mickey let go of his sleeve and clutched onto the railing as he stumbled down the steps. "You alright, Mick?" Benny asked, and he nodded in response, his breathing quickening. 

When the basement wasn't dimly lit and filled with the Commission, it doubled as a pretty calm hangout area for Rossi's boys when he didn't have them running around like idiots. There was a huge couch with a large square pillar beside it, facing the television, a Foosball table and a  few other random games scattered around sporadically. In the corner was a bar filled to the brim with any and all the booze you could think of. 

Mickey walked to the couch, where he leaned against the arm and regained his consciousness before looking up at Benny. The Vicodin he'd taken earlier was kicking in, but he couldn't tell if it was just making his brain feel even foggier. 

"Look, keep your mouth shut when you're out with Rossi," he said, his words moving so fast that a few of them melded together. Even so, Benny nodded. "When you're collecting alone and need to give someone a few extra days, that's fine, okay? Although I wouldn't recommend doing it often- these bastards lie. Basetti doesn't have a son- there's no fucking cancer, he's just looking to score points. That's what they do, and the sooner you realize that everyone here is the fucking same, the easier life will get for you."

Benny shifted uncomfortably and looked up at Mickey warily. "I know," was all he said in response. 

"You know? Then why are you making stupid fucking decisions?" he asked, crossing his arms. It was crazy how much better his arm was feeling. 

He chewed on his lip a bit before sighing and answering, "I was hoping that if I fuck up in enough like... innocent ways then they'll kick me to the curb."

At this, Mickey couldn't help but soften and rub a hand down his face painfully. "Fuck," he muttered. "That's not how it works, Benny," he said softly, turning back to him. "You don't just get to tally up enough innocent fuck ups before you're  out. You tally them up until you're whacked, and if you do, I'm gonna have to be the one to whack you," he explained carefully. "So don't do that, for both our sakes."

Benny looked away quickly and sucked in a deep breath. "I don't wanna do this anymore," he said, his voice just above a whisper as it cracked. Mickey's angry resolve began to shake and split apart at the utter humanity that still resided within Benny. He'd never really seen anyone as they got sucked into the Outfit, other than himself, but he didn't really count that. 

"Look, kid," he said, shifting so he was standing. "I know that you didn't choose this. A lot of us just happened to be thrown into it, but once you're far enough that you're being trusted to do shit and  _know_ shit... you're in. They won't let you out once you know enough about us to snitch. That's just how it goes."

Benny ran a hand through his hair and returned his gaze to Mickey. "And if I do snitch, won't they like... put me in witness protection or something?" he asked, and immediately Mickey stiffened. 

"If you  _do_ snitch and I find out first, I'll literally gut you, Benny. I decided to trust you, and that list isn't very long so if you do  _anything_ to compromise your position, then you're out, do you understand me?" Mickey growled, inching closer to his face and pressing a hand to his chest to pin him against the pillar. Benny's eyebrows furrowed and he nodded, leaning away from Mickey with evident fright in his eyes. His eyes trailed down to Benny's chest, where his hand felt something small and thin running from his finger to his palm. "Benny," he said quietly, swallowing as he tried to remain calm and looked up at his eyes. "Are you fucking wired right now?"

He started to shake his head, but Mickey put up a hand to silence him and turned Benny around roughly, running his hands along his back and arms, then the back of his pants legs to feel for a mic before turning him back and doing the same. "Mickey, you don't-"

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, putting his hand back on Benny's chest and feeling the same wire that he'd hoped he had been imagining. Slowly, he knelt onto one knee and felt up Benny's pant legs before he decided to take the plunge and follow the wire. With all sense of decency gone, he reached into Benny's waist band, where the wire led and ignored his noise of protest. He grabbed the small, metal object from the band of Benny's briefs and was about to pull it out when they both froze. 

"What the  _fuck,"_ the last voice he'd been expecting to hear said, breaking Mickey from his panicked frisking. 

He turned around, hand still down Benny's pants as he looked at Ian, his jaw slack in surprise. The hurt was clear on his face, but the mixture of confusion, surprise and anger was far more difficult to distinguish. Immediately, Mickey realized his obscenely compromising position and rose from his knees, pulling his hands and the object from Benny's pants. Unfortunately, as he should have expected, standing up too fast came with painful consequences and Mickey started to stumble before Benny tried to catch him. He wrenched his arms away, and rested his head on the side of the pillar. When he opened his eyes and saw the iPod in his hand, he clicked the home button and saw Taylor Swift playing. He looked up at Benny angrily, lifting the music device and raising an eyebrow. 

"You made me fucking frisk you all for  motherfucking Taylor Swift?!" he growled, throwing it at him before realizing that the wire was just his fucking headphones. 

"I tried to tell you, Mickey, but-"

He put a hand up and started walking towards Ian, who stood at the bottom of the staircase."Shut the fuck up," he barked, approaching his boyfriend. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a hushed voice. 

"Like five minutes after you left, Rossi called me and said some guy named Joey was picking me up," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. 

"Joey picked you up at my place!?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

Ian rolled his eyes, "Yes, Mickey, because I'm an idiot. No, I still had Nathan's car, so I fuckin' booked it to his house and had him pick me up there. Why were your hands just down Benny's fucking pants?"

Mickey reached out to touch Ian's arm before they simultaneously pulled back. Ian's reason was probably more anger than fear of being caught, like Mickey's, but it was fine. "Well the fucking idiot was talking about snitching and then I found a goddamn  _wire_ on him!" he snapped, looking back at Benny, whose hands were up in surrender. "But it turned out to be a fucking iPod. With shitty music on it."

"Don't you dare badmouth T. Swift," Benny shot back and Mickey rolled his eyes. 

"Yeah? Well when you're on your knees with your hand in his fucking pants it looks a lot different," he muttered, looking between Mickey's mouth and eyes. "Someone might think you two were doing something... else."

Mickey glanced up the steps to see the door closed and touched Ian's arm this time, ignoring his flinch. "Yeah, well  _someone_ would be wrong, alright?" he ran his thumb over Ian's skin and glanced at his lips, fighting the urge to kiss him. "In fact, it took  _someone_ months to even get me to admit that I liked him enough to kiss him, so why would I want to compromise that?"

Ian looked away and mumbled an, "I don't know."

"Well, I do know," he said, shoving at Ian's shoulder gently. "Now fuck off, go get back to your boyfriend."

Ian rolled his eyes and grabbed the collar of Mickey's shirt, tugging him forward gently. "You know I don't like it when you say that," he said, eyeing up Mickey's mouth. 

 _"You_ know that if we get caught like this, we'll both get burned alive," he said softly, and even so, Ian pulled him even closer. 

"Yeah? Well, that's half the fun," he whispered, and Mickey lost all desire to keep fighting him as he started leaning forward, only to be interrupted by Benny clearing his throat. 

He huffed out a breath and turned around to see him tapping his foot. "Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news and ruin your moment, but someone over here has to be able to think rationally, and if you two get caught, you're gonna be a lot worse than burned alive," he said with a shrug, stuffing his ipod back in his pants. 

Knowing he was right, Mickey tried pulling away, only to realize that Ian hadn't let go of his shirt. "Just one," he pleaded when Mickey turned to look back at him. 

"Benny, go watch the door," Mickey commanded, eyes trained on Ian's lips. 

He scoffed, "Really? After everything I just said?"

"Benny. Door. Now," he said, hooking a finger through Ian's belt loop and pulling him away from the staircase so no one would see them if it opened. 

Benny sighed and muttered something indistinctly to himself as he walked away, and Mickey grinned up at Ian, licking his lips. Once they were far enough away, Mickey pinned Ian against the wall and reached up to lower his head to his meet his lips. Ian fisted his shirt tighter and wound his other arm around Mickey's back, holding his body tight against his. 

Mickey was the first to open his mouth, licking into Ian's without hesitation, and stifling a moan when he did the same. Ian was right, the fact that they could be caught was both horrifying and exciting, and fueled him to reach down and grope Ian through his jeans. 

"Second base," Ian muttered against his mouth, batting Mickey's hand away. 

He pulled back, mouth open in surprise. "You're still on that?"

"Mickey, it hasn't even been twenty four hours since I said it," he laughed, and Mickey rolled his eyes before moving back in for another kiss. Ian grinned as he kissed back, biting at Mickey's lips. There was an underlying possessiveness to the way Ian was kissing him that wasn't lost on Mickey, and if everyone was being fairly obvious, he really didn't hate it. Like at all. In fact, it just made him press his hips forward into Ian's and kiss him harder. Grinding still counted as second base, right?

They were both shocked from their horny little interlude by Benny clearing his throat and saying, "They got a little distracted."

Immediately, Mickey stepped away and looked around the room hurriedly before pointing to the Foosball table. Ian's eyebrows furrowed as if to say "That's not believable at all", but Mickey shook his head and rushed to one side, urging Ian to go to the other. He dropped a ball in quickly and started playing. 

Moments later, Rossi came clambering down the steps and laid his eyes on the boys. Mickey scored and pumped his fist in the air, letting out a whoop. Ian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Rossi snorted a bit and sighed, "What is with boys and Foosball, I'll never know." He approached Ian and wrapped an arm around his waist and Mickey's smile began to fade. "Did you even tell Mickey that I needed him upstairs?"

"Nah, he was too busy getting demolished," Mickey said before Ian could open his unconvincing mouth. Rossi laughed a little and glanced at Mickey before his eyebrows furrowed. 

"Damn, Milkovich, what happened to your face?" he asked, rounding the table to press his fingers surprisingly gently on the bruise. For a moment, Mickey thought he was being mocked or made fun of, but the look on Rossi's face showed that he really didn't remember last night. 

Knowing better than to open that door, he shrugged and smirked a little. "Collections got a little rough last night," he lied smoothly. "You should see the other guy."

Rossi laughed and smacked him fondly on the shoulder. "Knowing you, there's probably not much left of him to even look at," he snorted and Mickey smiled in return. "You alright though? Your pupils are kinda big... haven't been doing any of my coke, have you?"

"Please, Rossi, you really think I'd steal coke from your tight ass?" he asked, running a hand through his hair nervously. 

He nodded and shrugged a bit. "True. I'd like to think you're a little smarter than that," he winked and Mickey agreed. "Got a bit of a concussion maybe? If you had to get stitched, he probably got you pretty good," he said, running his thumb over the stitches softly. Mickey swallowed nervously- why was Rossi being so nice to him?

"Probably, but I'll be fine," he said, pushing Rossi's hand away. "What do you need Joey and I to run for you?"

Rossi sighed, looking over when Ian grabbed his arm and tugged him a little closer. Mickey's eyebrows furrowed and he studied Ian, confused and jealous. "Well, since you were taking forever, Joey left already. He's just running to Sam's and stopping by a few clients on the way back," he shrugged, putting an arm around Ian again. "You could just go home if you want. Spend some time with your sister, hang out with your boyfriend, I don't know," he chuckled. "If you're that banged up, you're gonna need rest anyways."

Ian gave Mickey a pointed 'I told you so' look, and he sighed. He wanted nothing more than to hang out with his boyfriend, but since said boyfriend was draped on his boss at the moment, that would be a difficult task to accomplish. 

"How many times do I have to tell you, Rossi? I'm not fucking gay," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat. All three other men in the room scoffed at this, and he threw a murderous look to Benny, who simply shrugged, before looking back at the couple before him. "Can you two just?? Fuck off, okay?" he muttered, grumbling to himself as he walked away. Before he went up the steps, he grabbed Benny and pulled him forward by the shirt, hissing in his ear, "Don't leave those two alone for a minute, you got it? They go upstairs and you call me."

When he was released, Benny nodded quickly, and Mickey glanced back at Rossi and Ian. "Call me if the twink needs a ride home," he said, and Rossi nodded. "I'll probably be out anyways."

He gave Ian a look after Rossi turned around before making his way up the stairs and out of the house. 

***

Not even an hour later, Mickey was picking up Svetlana and getting out of the car, rounding to the passenger seat once she walked out of the house. 

"Mikhailo, are you going to open my door for me?" she asked, gasping a little. 

He laughed, "No, I need you to drive. I can't fucking think straight."

She lost her smile immediately when she saw his face, already invading his space to look at it and touch the bruise with cold, gentle fingers. Why did everyone feel the need to touch it? Why?

"Who did this to you?" she asked, a sneer overtaking her face. 

"Settle down, Mama Bear, it was my boss," he explained, and Svetlana frowned as she walked around the car, sliding into the driver's seat. Mickey slammed his door shut behind him and didn't bother buckling until she yelled at him in Russian. 

She started the car and pulled away haphazardly a moment later. "He hits you again and I bash-"

"His head with a hammer, yeah I got it," Mickey interrupted with a sigh.

"чертовски мудак," she muttered, although Mickey had no fucking clue what she meant. "Where is orange boy?"

Mickey closed his eyes tightly, doing his best not to imagine what Ian was doing. "With my boss."

"что ебать!?" she burst, and Mickey groaned. 

"I don't know what the fuck you're saying, Svet, stop it with the fuckin' Russian," he sighed, looking out the window. 

"I say what the fuck! You leave him with man who did his to you?" she pointed to his face and slammed on the brakes for a stop sign, reaching her arm out to keep Mickey from jerking forward. His heart warmed a little at her protectiveness. 

Mickey looked back over at her in response. "You think I would leave Ian alone with that bastard? Fuck no, I made sure he's protected," he assured, his look turning to something soft and warm. 

Svetlana smiled and muttered, "что ебать."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is later than i said it would be and i'm sorry but it's very long!!!  
> i love you all and next chapter might get a little KINKYYYYYYY  
> lol "might" it totally will.   
> okay i love you  
> please please please comment!!! PLEEEAAASSEEE  
> I LOVE YOU MY MAJESTIC OPALESCENT OWLS  
> <3 <3


	41. Chapter 41

When Mickey and Svetlana finished decorating the rooms at In the Mood and adding huge buckets of condoms under all the tables, she drove them back to Mickey's house. "I just sleep here and have Mandy drive me home tomorrow, yes?" she asked and Mickey nodded, waving her off. 

It had been nearly four hours and he hadn't heard a word from Ian, and his blood was beginning to boil. He could hardly think straight his head hurt so badly and standing up was a task in itself since he was so fucking dizzy. He had no idea how he'd even drive to pick up Ian when the time came. 

"Hey, where's your boyfriend?" Mandy asked from the couch, laying on her side and smoking a blunt. Mickey reached a hand out to take a hit, but stumbled, and immediately Mandy wrenched it away from him. "Yeah, I'm gonna say you should pass on the drugs, man," she said, although she handed it to Svetlana without hesitation. 

He groaned and lowered himself onto the couch carefully, knowing that if he flopped down like he wanted to, he would probably pass out from the pain. "What, Svetlana gets some and not me?" he asked breathily, raising a hand to his throbbing skull. 

"Mick, I'm worried about you," Mandy said, eyebrows furrowed as she sat up. "Can't they do anything to treat a concussion?"

He simply shut his eyes against the dull light of the television and replied, "No, you just need to rest and shit, but I don't got that luxury."

"Like hell you don't have that luxury! Mickey did Rossi or did he not send you home  _to rest?_ You didn't have to go decorate the Rub and Tug tonight," she snapped, kicking his thigh. "Go lay the fuck down."

He groaned, leaning his head back on the couch. "I have to wait for Ian to get ho-"

Before he could even finish the sentence, Ian walked in with Benny trailing closely behind him. "Hey," he breathed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

Mickey stood up carefully, barely kissing Ian before passing him to get to Benny. "Talk to me outside," he said, leaving the apartment with Benny and ignoring Ian's sound of protest. "Why the fuck didn't you text me at all tonight? What happened?"

"Nothing happened! I stayed with them the whole time, except when-"

He raised an eyebrow, "When what?"

"When I had to take a piss, damn, Mickey!"

Mickey groaned, "Was that long enough for anything to happen?"

Benny grimaced and shrugged. "Look, Mickey, I'm not gonna lie to you, okay? I think at one point Rossi tried to get it up, even with me in the room, but... he couldn't," he said, scratching the side of his head. Mickey's eyebrows furrowed a little. "Maybe it's all the drugs and shit, but... he kept apologizing and holding Ian's hand and shit-"

"Okay, that's enough," he said holding up a hand. He didn't know whether to be glad that Rossi couldn't fuck Ian even if he tried or irritated that he tried in the first place. "Thanks for sticking with them and bringing Ian home."

He shrugged, looking Mickey up and down. "I figured you'd probably die if you tried to come pick Ian up," he admitted quietly and Mickey nodded a bit. 

"Probably," he sighed. "Well, listen, man, sorry for feeling you up earlier," he chuckled and Benny smirked. "I can't help but be paranoid, man. Not just because I have to make sure no one narcs, but like... I don't know, I'd prefer not to end up in prison, especially since I can't keep an eye on Ian from in there. So just... yeah sorry about the frisk."

Benny smiled and clapped Mickey on the shoulder, "Don't worry about it, man. I liked it." He added a wink for dramatic effect at the end and Mickey rolled his eyes. "I'll see you soon, yeah? Try and rest up."

With that he left, and Mickey heard his fast footsteps down the staircase before he walked back into the apartment, locking the door behind him. 

"Why did you need to talk to Benny alone?" Ian asked immediately, arms crossed. 

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed and he pursed his lips a little. "Uh... to make sure everything went alright," he replied, reaching a hand up through his hair. Svetlana and Mandy sat a little closer together on the couch and passed their blunt back and forth, enthralled with the conversation unfolding before them. 

"And you couldn't just ask me?"

"Um," Mickey swallowed, taking a few steps toward Ian, who stood his ground. "Well, I know that you'd lie to me to make it seem like nothing really happened, even if it did," he shrugged. "And I wanted to talk to him about business stuff," he lied. Business stuff like that fact that Mickey basically treated him like he couldn't be trusted and totally broke all privacy barriers that he had. "Is that okay with you, Sergeant?" 

Ian shrugged indifferently, though his face told a completely different story. "I just think it's interesting that I find you alone with him in the basement today, on your knees, hand in his pants, then you want to go outside alone with him after he  _insisted_ on walking me up here," he answered, though every word felt like a stab at Mickey's loyalty. 

"You were doing  _what_ in the basement!?" Mandy barked as Svetlana gasped, "Whore!"

"Okay, hey,  _woah,_ guys," Mickey said, putting his hands up in surrender. "Benny was talking about some shit earlier, and I was threatening him when I thought he was wired, alright? I was  _frisking_ him, and his wire happened to be connected to an iPod, which was- yes- in his pants, which I now realize is kind of a strange place to keep it, but it happens. I talked to him to apologize, make sure everything went okay and check up on a few things. Alright?"

Ian chewed the inside of his cheek and sighed before looking up at Mickey and dropping his arms back to his sides. "Yeah, whatever," he concluded, and Mickey smiled, opening his arms in question. Ian rolled his eyes but walked into them and planted his lips on Mickey's right away. He hummed a little in response and pulled Ian closer by the waist before smelling something that made him pause and pull away. 

"You need to change," he said, shaking his head a little and stepping away, grimacing. 

"What?" Ian asked, lifting the collar of his shirt to smell it. "Do I smell bad?"

Mickey shrugged and nodded a little. "You smell like Rossi's old man cologne," he admitted, licking his lips. "Just... please, change or something, I can't- I can't smell that when I'm around you I don't like it," he said with finality. It was hard enough for him to forget the two of them had kissed and cuddled and shit  _without_ him smelling like the bastard, but when the cologne he doused himself in rubbed off on Ian, it made it a million times worse. 

Ian rolled his eyes but turned around to do so, grumbling as he walked away. 

"Wear something of mine," he specified, and Ian threw up a middle finger before retreating into the bedroom. Mickey always felt a strange sense of satisfaction seeing Ian in his clothes, and he would need it after being reminded of the fact that Rossi's hands had been all over him not even an hour ago. 

"Well wasn't that cute?" Mandy teased, nudging Svetlana before dissolving into a fit of giggles. 

Svetlana sighed through her laughter. "I still can't believe how gay Mikhailo is," she burst before both girls cracked up all over again. "Even without dick in asshole, he acts like-" she sputtered a little. "-like a gay motherfucker."

"Haha, Mickey's gay, haha," he mocked before flipping them both off and marching off to his bedroom. He walked in, still hearing their laughter, while Ian was shrugging on one of Mickey's ACDC shirts. A grin broke out across his face upon seeing his boyfriend, and he reached up to cradle his face between his hands. "Much better," he decided, and Ian rolled his eyes. 

"Now that I look and smell like a taller, less scary Mickey Milkovich, yeah, guess I'm all set," he smirked, and leaned down to kiss Mickey, who eagerly kissed back for a few moments before he got dizzy and pulled back a little.

"I feel like I'm gonna pass out," he admitted, forehead resting on Ian's. He wrapped an arm around Mickey's back to steady him and kissed the tip of his nose. "Stop that," he scolded, although Ian let the chastise roll off of him and leaned in to kiss Mickey's nose again, earning nothing but a light blush this time. 

Ian brushed their noses together before whispering, "Can we actually rest now? Since literally  _everyone_ has told you to do it by now?"

Mickey nodded but didn't say anything else, just letting his boyfriend strip him down to his boxers and tug him to the bed. He didn't even bother waiting until they were both near sleep to cuddle into Ian's side. At that point, both of them were well aware of Mickey's cuddling addiction, so what was the point of acting like it wasn't real? Ian laid on his back, arm out for Mickey to fall under, to which he obliged. He rested his head on Ian's chest and winced a little as he felt pressure on his bruise. He thought about switching to lay on Ian's other side, but that would result in him sleeping on his wounded arm, which wouldn't feel so great after a night of being laid on. He sighed and lifted his head to look at Ian in question. 

Seeming to understand, Ian simply wrapped his free arm around Mickey's back and tugged him up until he was laying completely on top of Ian, his legs parted around either of his boyfriend's. Mickey accepted their new positions wholeheartedly and rested his head in the crook of Ian's neck, pressing a soft kiss there and settling to the feeling of Ian's pulse beneath his lips. 

"Love you, Mick," Ian muttered, running his fingers through Mickey's hair. Helpless to consciousness when Ian did that to him, Mickey simply hummed in return, the feeling already lulling him to a comfortable sleep atop his boyfriend's comfortable body. 

***

The next morning, Mickey woke up to kisses being littered all over his face and he moaned a little at the pain of the sunlight on his tired eyes. "Good morning," Ian greeted perkily as his eyes opened. 

"No," he responded, squinting his eyes and shaking his head before returning his face to Ian's neck. "No," he mumbled again, though it was muffled. 

Ian chuckled a little and ran his hand gently up and down Mickey's back, only making him grow more tired, if not a little tingly. "You can go back to bed, but I should get up. Plus I'm hungry and I can smell whatever Mandy and Svet made," he admitted, a small pleading air to his voice. 

Mickey raised an arm to put his hand over Ian's overactive mouth and muttered, "You can go eat, just leave me alone."

"Mick... baby," he sighed, trying to look down at his boyfriend and failing. "You're on top of me."

Mickey shrugged, sinking deeper into his boyfriend and closing his eyes against the harsh morning light peeking through his curtains. "I don't care," he admitted, sliding his hand up and into Ian's hair instead. "I don't care," he repeated quieter. If anything, Ian should've been savoring Mickey's affection, since he was rarely so forward about it. Except when Ian did literally anything within Mickey's eyesight. Or when he thought about Ian. Or when he heard Ian's voice. Or when Ian-

"Fuck," Ian muttered, but didn't stop trailing his fingers over Mickey's back. Mickey knew that his resolve had finally cracked, and he kissed Ian's neck gratefully before letting himself rest up again. 

The next time he woke up, he was alone in bed, as Ian had somehow managed to wriggle his way from underneath Mickey. He picked up his phone from the nightstand, surprised to see that it was already 4pm. He'd slept nearly 15 hours and somehow managed to get away with no contact from Rossi.

But he had to admit, his head already felt better. The pain wasn't gone completely, but it had a sort of numbness to it now, and he could actually open his eyes and sit up without the blinding pain. He heard laughter coming in from the living room, and as he stood without a wave of dizziness washing over him, Mickey sighed deeply. Maybe rest  _was_ necessary to recover from a concussion, but hey who knew?

He brushed his teeth before doing anything, since he could taste his fucking stank breath from the moment he woke up. After, he made his way to the living room slowly, unwilling to do anything that would make his head start pounding like that again. Ian saw him first from his seat on the recliner that was aimed towards the couch, where Mandy and Svet still sat. His face lit up and he put his arms out to beckon Mickey to him. 

"Well good morning," Mandy greeted him with a little snort. 

He walked over to his boyfriend and flipped Mandy off. He leaned down and kissed Ian before standing back up to sit somewhere. Ian grabbed his arm and tried tugging him back. "Gallagher, no, I'm not sitting on your lap or some gay shi-"

His argument was cut short as Ian pulled him and he fell into the ginger's lap unceremoniously with a little grunt. Once he was there, he looked at Ian and shook his head before sighing. Ian grinned victoriously, one arm around Mickey's back and the other resting in his boyfriend's lap. Mickey let his legs drape over the arm of the chair and gave in, shifting back to make himself more comfortable and resting his head on Ian's shoulder. 

Svetlana leaned over and whispered something into Mandy's ear, causing her to giggle and shove at Svet, but nod. "You two wanna speak the fuck up?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. 

"Oh, sure, Mickey, we said you two are a couple of  _twinks,"_ Mandy spoke slow and clear as she leaned forward a little. "Sorry if you missed it before, we were mumbling." Mickey flipped her off again, and leaned unconsciously closer to Ian as he started rubbing slow circles on his back. "How the fuck is your body count so high when you're a such a gay little sex slave to Ian?" she asked, laughter plaguing her voice. 

Svetlana burst out laughing and leaned her face into Mandy's shoulder before looking back up at Mickey, who crossed his arms. Ian's chest stuttered a little as he laughed too, and he looked away. "What, Gallagher? Huh? Got something to say?" he prodded, wearing his best 'I'm a gangster' expression as Ian looked down at him with one of  _those_ smiles. 

He shook his head and leaned down, kissing Mickey instead of answering. Mickey kissed back, obviously, because he would accept Ian's mouth as a replacement to whatever it was he had to say. He reached up a hand to hold Ian's jaw and Ian did the same, his other arm still wrapped around his boyfriend's back, only now it was to keep Mickey from falling backwards as they kissed. When they broke apart, Mickey cleared his throat and moved his hand, then glanced over to see his sister holding up her phone, both her and Svetlana looking at it excitedly. 

Mickey gasped and looked between the two of them and Ian. Ian was looking down and biting his lip, a small grin plastered on his face when he looked back up at Mickey. "Fuck all of you," he said, crossing his arms again, but making no move to leave his boyfriend's lap. 

"No, only fuck Ian," Svetlana said. And from that one playful sentence, he knew that Ian was accepted by her as well. He was no longer 'Red boy' or 'Carrot boy', he was Ian now. And that was all he needed to be for everyone in the room to know and love him. 

"Yeah, you only fuck me," he repeated, squeezing Mickey's thigh. He rolled his eyes, but they were all right. Ian would be the only person Mickey would even want to fuck for a  _long_ time. 

***

The grand opening of the Rub and Tug came around after three days of relaxation, eating, cuddling and abandoning Ian's 'second base' rule, and Mickey couldn't have been more ready. He and Svetlana had perfected every detail, down to which girls would be in their rooms to start out. They had both told nearly everyone in their circles about the opening and everyone had been pretty ecstatic. It was crazy just how many lonely, sex-deprived men there were in the Southside. 

Ian tagged along, though he admitted that he felt a little weird about it, and Mickey admitted he was worried about being seen with the ginger outside of the house, but Mandy had convinced both of them that everything would turn out fine, and they'd agreed. So they sat on a couch in the center of In the Mood, which they had rented out for the night to have an opening party. 

The crowd of bodies in the massage parlor was massive, and there were men filtering in and out of the rooms one by one, leaving wadded up bills in the tip jar, along with their payments towards the girls in each of the rooms. Mickey sat in his pressed, full black Italian suit, an entire bottle of champagne in his hand that he was sipping periodically. Ian sat an appropriate distance away from him, a fluke of the alcohol in his hands. His leg was bobbing up and down anxiously, and Mandy slid over, throwing herself into his lap and running her fingers through his hair. 

Mickey jumped immediately, but paused when he saw Ian visibly relax, looking at his sister as she whispered into his ear. He sat down slowly, very confused, but feeling better now that Ian seemed to have settled. He could always count on Mandy to know exactly what to say in any situation to make someone feel calmer. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and settle his hand casually on Ian's thigh to soothe him, but there was no way people wouldn't look at him weird, especially when he was supposed to be there as Svetlana's business partner  _and_ date. 

Of course, just as he started thinking about her, she started dancing over to him, popping her hips to the beat of the music blasting and whooping drunkenly. She giggled as she approached him in her skin tight floral dress and bare feet- as she ditched her obscenely high pumps-her short dark curls bobbing around her face. Once she got close enough she knelt onto him so she was straddling him and placed a hand on his shoulder, the other one grasping a bottle of white whine. 

"It is going well, yes?" she asked with laughter in her voice. Mickey raised his free hand to her back for the sake of appearances and nodded. "Then come dance," she urged, stepping back down and pulling Mickey up by the arm. 

He shook his head immediately, setting his bottle down on the table. "Svet, you  _and_ all these people know that I don't dance-"

She pulled him forward so their bodies were pressed together and started swaying with him, wrapping the arm holding the bottle around his neck so she could sip it on the other side of his head, and pressing her free hand against his chest. "Mikhailo, they also think we are together," she said, winking at someone across the room. "So act like you are just as whipped for me as Ian, yes? Hold me by you- and don't pretend you wouldn't dance when he pulls you onto floor, hmm?" she asked, pulling back just enough to raise a playful eyebrow. 

Mickey rolled his eyes, but grinned a little despite himself. It could be fun to play house with Svetlana for a minute- pretend for a while that he wasn't in love with someone who would get him killed. Even more, in love with a  _man_ who would get him killed. He raised his hands to her hips and started swaying with her. 

"You're lucky I'm such a great actor," he said, and maybe it was the champagne, or the shots he'd taken earlier, or even just his small desire to be  _normal,_ but he didn't hate dancing with Svetlana. In face, the more she pulled him into it, the more he actually enjoyed himself, and laughed at her silly, bubbly nature. She always managed to make him laugh despite himself; she wore the air of an uptight, mildly terrifying Russian prostitute, when in reality she was a happy-go-lucky dork who never stopped cracking awful jokes and giggling like a dweeb. She was probably his best friend, too. And he would never admit it out loud, but he was so insanely glad that she came into that elevator in Milwaukee.

She snorted and pulled away from Mickey just to spin under his arm and come back, taking a big drink of her wine. "Yes, because you are having such a horrible time," she said sarcastically, her smile wide and genuine. "We did it, Mikhailo, we are successful."

"So far," he corrected, taking the wine from her and downing the rest before handing the bottle to some random passerby. "We'll see how it goes."

She rolled her eyes and spun again, shimmying closer. It surprised Mickey that her touch didn't cause him to pull away uncomfortably, though that was just who she was as a person. He could never really recall in all his years knowing her a time when her hands didn't leave him or anyone else for that matter, visibly shaken and chilled. She just had that way about her- although she was obviously no Ian. He didn't  _crave_ her touch like he did his boyfriend's, he just didn't mind it. 

When she pulled him back in this time, he laughed, looking around the room to see a photographer approaching them, motioning for them to pose. Svetlana didn't waste any time throwing her arm back around Mickey's neck and pulling him in for a kiss. His eyes closed in surprise and his hands were still on her lips as the camera flashed, and the photographer gave them a thumbs up as the room ignited in cheers and applause for the 'happy couple'. 

Mickey looked around the room perplexed before returning his gaze to Svet. "What better way to seem like a straight boy than kiss your favorite girl, huh?" she asked, winking at Mickey, who smirked and shrugged. She wasn't wrong. When the made boys who weren't at their little party saw that picture, they'd probably be convinced the two of them were a couple, especially since Svetlana was nothing if not convincing. 

He saw a def movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked to see Ian shoving through the crowd of people towards the bathroom. Mickey glanced over to Mandy, whose face looked pained as she shrugged. He looked to Svetlana nervously, and she simply nodded towards the direction Ian went and kissed him on the cheek. "Go," she urged, and he nodded, trying to walk calmly after Ian. 

Of course he'd be upset about watching Mickey bump and grind all over Svetlana, then kiss her in front of a camera. However, he couldn't help but acknowledge that it was better than what he had to endure when he watched Rossi and Ian. At least Mickey and Svetlana both knew that it was all for the sake of performance, but Rossi really did have an attachment and feeling of possessiveness over Ian- whether it was reciprocated or not. 

Still, Mickey would never just leave Ian to stew in his jealousy and anger, so he made his way to the bathroom, stopped a couple of times to be given handshakes or 'Congratulations!' on the opening, which he returned and thanked quickly before slipping into the single stall bathroom inconspicuously. Just as he'd expected, Ian was leaning against the wall, looking distressed. Mickey made sure the door was locked and latched behind him as he started crossing the room and gestured Ian over. 

"Come here," he said with a little nod, just before Ian pushed off the wall and their mouths collided. Ian had Mickey against the wall in a matter of seconds, running his fingers along the expanse of Mickey's chest and down to his ass. He chuckled a little against Ian's mouth before parting his lips and immediately feeling Ian's tongue in his mouth. 

Mickey's hands lifted to Ian's face, and he ran his thumb along his cheekbone, kissing back just as aggressively before Ian pulled away. "You don't like Svetlana or anything, right?" he asked,  his breathing already a little heavy. 

"Ian, wh- no? We've established that I'm gay, babe," he scoffed. "Svetlana is like an older sister to me- granted we've got a bit of a weird relationship, but no. This is all for publicity, and really, it's the safest route. The more I look like a straight mobster starting a business with his girlfriend, the less suspicion there will be around us," he explained, gesturing between the two of them. 

Ian nodded, swallowing thickly. "Okay, good," he sighed before going right back. The buzz Mickey had going made his head feel light and bubbly as he kissed Ian back excitedly, reaching down to unbutton his pants before Ian batted his hand away. 

"What, Gallagher, are we trying out your second base thing again? Because that worked so well for you before," he chuckled, leaning forward to try and kiss Ian again. "What?" he whined, just wanting to be kissed by his stupid fucking boyfriend. 

"Keep it in your pants til we get home, Milkovich," he demanded, and Mickey groaned, trying to pull him back in drunkenly by his tie. 

He rolled his eyes but grinned when Ian held himself up by planting a hand over either side of Mickey's head on the wall. "Fine, but can you kiss me?" he asked, looking back up at Ian's eyes. "Please?"

"Maybe if you say 'please' again, I'll think about it-"

He was interrupted by Mickey ignoring his terms and yanking him down by the tie anyways, meeting his soft lips eagerly and biting at them the second he got the chance. "Touch me," he pleaded against Ian's mouth when he realized his hands were still on the wall. Ian didn't waste a moment to tug Mickey's body against his harshly by the waist and continue kissing him. He made a small noise of contention and ran his fingers into Ian's hair to tug harshly. 

After a few more blissful moments of Ian's mouth pressing on his, the ginger pulled away and looked down at him. "People are gonna get suspicious if we're in here together much longer," he panted against Mickey's mouth, and he nodded in agreement. 

"Fine," he muttered, rocking up for another kiss and trying to turn it into something deeper before Ian pulled away. 

"Stop- Mickey, no. I'll go out first, then you wait like thirty seconds before you follow, okay?" he asked, and Mickey rolled his eyes but nodded, watching as Ian slipped out of the room smoothly. He went up to the mirror now that he was alone and looked at the bruising on his face. The swelling had reduced considerably, and while it was still dark, the edges around the bruises were fading to yellow. He figured by the end of next week he'd be able to take the stitches out of both his face and arm, thank god. 

By the time he finished looking at the damage and was able to think semi-clearly again, he opened the bathroom door and trotted out, not noticing anyone watching him suspiciously. He made his way back over to Svetlana, who kissed him quickly on the mouth and muttered, "Where is your boyfriend?" before looking around the room for him. 

"I thought that he would be with Mandy," he said, looking to where his sister was bent over, grinding on the one person he didn't expect to see her with. Caleb. "My favorite fucker on the planet," he grumbled rolling his eyes. 

"Oh, shit," Svetlana hissed angrily. Mickey furrowed his eyebrows and followed her eye line to where Ian was being grabbed across the room by a familiar, graying man of at least 43. "Make that second favorite," she corrected as he grabbed Mickey's arm and watched Ian force a smile at the one fucker he hadn't seen in months- had tried to forget about until fairly recently when Rossi had brought him up.

Damion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it bitches  
> expect another update soon, but also not too soon since they're gonna be getting longer and longer as we end the book.   
> i love you all way more than is healthy, probably, but it's okay  
> please please pleeeaaassseee comment your little fingers off  
> until next time my intuitive, clever seahorses (don't know why i'm doing so many aquatic creatures lately)  
> LOVE YA <3  
> ps comment


	42. Chapter 42

Immediately Mickey tensed, and his face morphed into a sneer. He watched as Damion threw an arm around Ian's neck and immediately started walking forward, the room spinning around him. His vision nearly turned red as Damion leaned in, about to kiss Ian. Mickey approached them before that could happen, though, and shoved Damion's shoulder back roughly, ready to rear back and give him a fucking shiner. 

"What the fuck?" Damion asked, his drink spilling a bit as he regained his balance. He was clearly drunk, and the anger in his eyes was impossible to miss as he studied Mickey, who immediately lowered his arm. "You're that new made boy that Rossi sponsored, aren't you?" he asked, pointing to Mickey. 

He nodded, realizing just how badly he may have fucked up. He had just pushed a Capo for no sound reason other than the fact that he was about to kiss his secret boyfriend, who was also coincidentally his boss's boyfriend. "Mickey Milkovich, sir," he introduced himself, voice gruff as he put out a hand. 

Damion took it and shook it tensely, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Mickey curiously. "Right, I know who you are. You've made quite a name for yourself around here. Thirty-two and no jail time?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, impressed. Mickey simply shrugged and nodded. "That's incredible. Good for you, Milkovich. Now you wanna tell me why the fuck you put your hands on me?" he asked, demeanor calm, but eyes crazy. 

Mickey swallowed and glanced back at Ian, who was watching with a blank look on his face, quickly. He leaned into Damion a little, "Well, Rossi may have mentioned your... _situation_ to me and I figured I'd stop you from doing some stupid shit to get yourself killed." When he pulled away, the older man's eyes were wide and his face horrified. 

"I hadn't even thought about it-"

"I know," he nodded and clapped Damion on the shoulder, though he wanted nothing more than to dislocate said shoulder. It was honestly a little alarming how much he hated seeing anyone touch Ian. "Didn't mean to get rough, just wanted to help out," he shrugged, the lie rolling off his tongue easily. A moment later, he felt a hand slide around his bicep and looked over to see Svetlana, ready to drape herself over Mickey. 

Just as he'd suspected, she hooked one arm through his and rested the other on his chest, leaning up to kiss his cheek before she looked at Damion with a sly smile. "Who is your friend, Mikhailo?" she asked, resting her chin on Mickey's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her a little closer, now purely terrified that Damion would see through him. He had to act straight as fuck if he wanted to sell it. It would be a doozy. 

"Damion, meet Svetlana, my..." he trailed off, looking down at the drunk little Russian clinging to his side. 

"Just his," she finished for him, biting her tongue. He snorted a little and looked back at Damion, who had an eyebrow raised. 

"Mine," he agreed, and tightened his hold on her as Damion looked her up and down appreciatively. He held out his hand, and Svet untangled herself from Mickey to give him hers. Instead of shaking it like a normal human being, Damion bent over and kissed it, making eye contact with Svetlana the whole time. After it became uncomfortable, he pulled her back a little harshly by the waist. Could Damion keep his hands to himself for five fucking minutes?

Both Damion and Svet laughed at his possessiveness, and she tugged on Mickey's arm a little. "Come on, let me have some fun," she giggled, and he glanced down at her smile and rolled his eyes. She grabbed his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, and for a moment, he almost resisted, until he realized that it was necessary. He literally  _had_ to kiss Svetlana to keep himself and Ian safe. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. So he kissed her back, obviously feeling terrible that Ian was just a few feet away as he watched the two of them practically make out in front of him. 

"Well, well, well, Mickey Milkovich," Rossi's own voice broke Mickey and Svetlana apart as he approached, a teasing grin on his face. He stood right next to Damion, whose face grew annoyed upon seeing the other Capo. "I guess I should've listened to you," he chuckled, obviously referencing all the times that he had told Rossi he wasn't gay. He shrugged a bit, and swallowed thickly, tightening his grip on Svetlana for comfort. She ran a hand over his chest in that oddly reassuring way of hers and hooked a leg around his. 

It took every fiber of his being not to glance to his right, where he still felt the heat of Ian's presence and his gaze. "What are you doing here?" Mickey asked, his breath catching a little when Svetlana leaned up and started kissing his throat. 

Rossi watched with amused eyes as he shrugged. "Heard about the opening of a new... hospitality service downtown and figured I'd check it out. No surprise you're the one behind it," he laughed, sticking his hands in his pockets. He glanced over at Ian and his face changed a little; he licked his lips and smiled a little, winking at Ian. Mickey glanced over to see a small, uncomfortable smile on his boyfriend's face as he nodded in response. "This your girlfriend? Are you the one who leaves all those hickeys on Mickey's throat all the time?" he asked, lifting his drink to his lips. 

Svetlana pulled away from Mickey's neck and smiled bashfully. "Maybe," she giggled in response before burying her face in his arm, as though she were shy. He nearly rolled his eyes at just how backwards she was acting- this was the loudest, most obnoxious and outgoing bitch he'd ever met. 

"Never pegged you for the straight type, Milkovich," he admitted before shrugging and laughing a little. Mickey wasn't paying attention to his words, just watching the way both men kept looking over and studying his boyfriend with that gross combination of smitten and lustful written across their faces. 

"You two are not even a little bit subtle," he scoffed, and Svetlana dug her nails into his back, trying to ground him a little. "I mean, really, you're both eye-fucking the twink," he snorted and looked to see Ian looking between the two uncomfortably. 

Rossi looked back at Mickey with something dangerous in his eyes and took a threatening step forward. Mickey doubted he would do anything amidst a crowd of people  _and_ when Mickey had his "girlfriend" on his arm, but that didn't make it any less anxiety inducing. "The  _twink_ has a name, Milkovich," he nearly growled, which is not what Mickey had been expecting. Was he defending Ian? "It's Curtis."

Damion looked at him incredulously almost immediately and scoffed. "It's Curtis when he's  _stripping,_ maybe," he chuckled, glancing at a nervous Ian. "His name is Ian."

"What?" Rossi asked, eyebrows furrowed as he looked over at the ginger. "Your name is  _Ian?"_

Ian shrugged a little bit and nodded. "I'm so used to people calling me Curtis, and I didn't want it to be weird if I corrected you, but then... it got to be too late for me to correct you," he admitted and Rossi chewed on his lip a bit. 

"Interesting," Damion mused, rocking back on his heels. "Looks like I know Ian a little better than you," he said with a grin. 

"We broke up, Damion," Ian spoke up, the statement just a little too harsh. Mickey liked that Ian was standing up for himself- fuck he  _loved_ that he was telling his ex-boyfriend that they weren't together anymore, but he was definitely digging himself a pretty deep hole. 

Rossi's smile grew as he turned to look at Damion, who closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "How interesting," he mocked Damion, finishing off what looked like a gin and tonic. He reached out his hand for Ian to shake, mostly for the sake of appearances, and he obliged. 

"So, Rossi, is your wife here with you tonight?" Mickey asked, trying desperately to put a stop to the way his boss was eyeing up his boyfriend. 

He pulled away and scoffed before turning to Mickey. "Oh, yeah, Milkovich, I brought my wife with me to the opening of a whore house downtown." Mickey shrugged in response and glanced down at Svetlana as she ran his tie through her fingers, and his face immediately changed as he thought about the way Ian would do the same just before tugging him in for a kiss. He even started leaning forward instinctively. "Love is a strange look on you, Milkovich," he commented with a small grin, and Mickey straightened, remembering himself for a minute. He would really need to work on getting distracted like that, even if it looked like it was Svet who was distracting him. 

He shrugged a little and looked back over at Rossi. "Yeah, whatever," he rolled his eyes and glanced between the Capos and Ian before settling back on his boss. 

"I'm happy for you, kid," he nodded once and leaned forward to pat Mickey on the arm. "Well, I suppose I should go mingle," he shrugged and winked at Ian. "See you later...  _Ian."_

He nodded and grinned tightly before Rossi walked away, and all three directed their attention to Damion. He just looked at Ian for a minute before shaking his head angrily and stomping away after Rossi. The moment he descended into the crowd of bodies, they immediately all relaxed, and Svetlana slid over to Ian, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a hug. 

Mickey watched nervously and ran a hand over his face, trying to gauge Ian's reaction. He hugged Svet back and looked at Mickey over her shoulder, his face a mix between angry and a little predatory. 

His eyebrows furrowed at the strange look on his boyfriend's face; it hadn't been what he was expecting at all. He thought Ian would be upset, sure, but scared or nervous more than anything else. He looked away first before licking his lips and glancing back up at Ian, who let Svetlana go before nodding when she said something quietly to him. 

"I wanna go home," he said to Mickey, who swallowed thickly and nodded. "I'm gonna have Mandy take me back."

He chewed the inside of his cheek a little and reached out to take Ian's hand. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, obviously pissed off, but shook Mickey's anyways. Mickey took a chance and tugged him closer, so their bodies were nearly pressed together as he spoke quietly in Ian's ear. "You're still mine, got that?" he whispered with an iron grip on Ian's hand, needing to express that he was definitely more upset with Damion and Rossi fighting over him than Ian was about Svetlana and Mickey kissing. 

He felt the shiver that ran through Ian at the words and pulled back as the ginger nodded, meeting Mickey's eyes immediately. He looked a little more  _Ian_ now, and less angry-killer-jealous boyfriend. "How much longer?" he asked, a pout on his face instead of a sneer now. Both had yet to let go of the other's hand, and Mickey ran his thumb across the back of Ian's gently. 

"Just a couple more hours," he said, shrugging a little. "Go to sleep, I'll wake you up when I get back," he muttered, just in case anyone around them was listening. 

Ian nodded and pulled his hand away, chewing the inside of his cheek and giving make the  _look._ That look he somehow said a million fucking things with that left Mickey feeling shaken, vulnerable and pretty fucking gay. He just nodded once and watched as Ian walked away and approached Mandy, who was was sprawled across fucking Caleb's lap on one of the couches. She stood up and made eye contact with Mickey, flipping him off before smiling and following Ian to the door without so much as a wave to Caleb. 

Mickey finally sighed and looked to Svetlana. She raised an eyebrow and approached him, linking her fingers around Mickey's neck. "Your boyfriend does not like me anymore," she chuckled. The tension that had built within Mickey after Ian left was obvious, and he closed his eyes to try and relax. Now that he was gone, more anger was building within him towards Damion and Rossi, and he tried desperately to come up with some sort of solution. 

The problem was that Rossi and Ian had never had a  _title,_ but he and Damion had actually dated. That was kind of how the two of them met- Mickey had witnessed Ian and Damion fighting and offered Ian a ride. They lived together and actually called one another  _boyfriend._ The thought alone made Mickey's blood boil, and he opened his eyes to return them to his "girlfriend". Damion was literally the crazy ex-boyfriend, and Rossi was... a leech. He clung to Ian without any real sort of reciprocation, and continued to suck the life out of him. In a way, though, that was a good thing. Rossi had a wife, and a reason to break up with Ian; Damion didn't have any sort of attachments, and the only thing keeping him from Ian was the fact that he was a man  _and_ Rossi's involvement with him. 

"Mikhailo," Svetlana said sternly, turning his face so he was looking at her. "We will go home soon," she assured. "Don't check yet, okay?"

He sighed, but nodded, looking up and accidentally making eye contact with Damion right away, who was looking at him suspiciously. This time, when Svetlana leaned up and kissed him, he didn't pull away until he was certain everyone in the room thought he was straight.

***

By the time Mickey and Svetlana stumbled into the apartment, it was early the next morning and they were both giggling and happily drunk. Svetlana squealed a little as she tripped over her own feet and Mickey shushed her immediately, locking the door behind them. 

"Quiet-shh," he said, his words slurred and amused. "Mandy and Ian are sleeping," he whispered, and she nodded her head. 

"Mickey, we're both literally sitting right here," Mandy said from the couch, where she and Ian were sitting side by side, both wearing Mickey's clothes and passing a blunt back and forth.

His jaw dropped upon seeing them and he looked at Svetlana, who looked equally as shocked before they looked back. "Oh my  _god,_ you're awake?" he asked, reaching his arms out for Ian, who just watched, amused, as Mickey stumbled towards him, shedding his suit coat. 

"I thought I would wait for y-" he was cut off as Mickey fell into his lap, and the air was knocked out of him. He straddled Ian immediately, and wrapped his arms around his throat, burying his face in the ginger's neck.

He laughed and raised his hands to Mickey's back. "I missed you," he sighed, shifting closer. Ian turned his head to the side and kissed Mickey's cheek. 

"I missed you, too, babe," he responded, and Mandy rolled her eyes, taking the last few hits of the blunt before stubbing it out. 

"You two are literally pitiful," she scoffed, studying her brother's form. He was literally clinging to Ian like a monkey, his fingers running through the red hair. "You're a fucking murderer and you can't be away from your boyfriend for like, four hours?"

Mickey simply shook his head, nuzzling Ian's neck more. Ian shrugged, "Guess not." After a minute, Svetlana made her way over to the couch, collapsing onto it and letting her head fall into Mandy's lap. 

"Play with my hair," she commanded drunkenly, and Mandy laughed, but started twirling Svetlana's hair through her fingers.

"Yeah," Mickey muttered against Ian's skin before kissing it. Ian snorted a bit, but did the same to Mickey, massaging his scalp. He started kissing Ian's throat more, littering it with his lips. When he started sucking beneath his ear, Ian's breath caught, and he pulled Mickey off gently. 

"Maybe we should head to the bedroom, babe," he said, and Mickey groaned, but rolled off of Ian, waiting for his boyfriend to help him up. Once they were both standing, Mickey clung to him again, and Ian turned to Mandy. "Well, you two have fun," he said, glancing towards Svetlana's sleeping form. She rolled her eyes and shrugged. 

"I already know  _you_ two will have fun, so just... keep it down," she laughed, and Mickey flipped her off. 

He simply nodded before walking down the hallway, tugging Mickey close behind him. Once they were in the bedroom, Mickey pinned Ian sloppily against the door. "Hey, babe," he slurred, looking up at an amused Ian with wide eyes. "Do you wanna do it?" he asked, and Ian laughed before pulling Mickey in by his tie. 

"Sure, Mick," he laughed, pressing a short kiss to Mickey's lips. "Let's do it."

In an instant, Mickey's mouth was planted on Ian's, and he started working his shirt off of Ian's body. He ran his fingers over the taut muscles, and opened his mouth to feel Ian's tongue on his, shuddering a little when he did. Ian's fingers started working at the buttons on his shirt, and he pulled it off of Mickey's shoulders, along with the suspenders snapped into his waistband. 

He tugged Mickey's hips against his by the belt loops and he ground against Ian, trapping him against the door. He chuckled a little against Mickey's mouth and moved to throw his arms around his boyfriend's neck, fully content to be pressed against the door like that. Mickey had come far in terms of showing his affection, and he did it often, but when he was drunk, it was like... his filter was completely gone, and he let himself look smitten, playful and needy far more than when he was sober, despite the fact that he was still all those things. 

His hands continued to wander over Ian's skin, never staying in one place, aching to feel every part of him. He started walking backwards, and Ian followed, keeping their lips together the whole time. He turned at the last second so Ian fell onto his back, and gave him a moment to slide up the bed before he crawled on top of him, settling on his hips and leaning back down to kiss Ian. 

"I am so fucking in love with you," he mumbled, shifting his mouth down to Ian's neck, where he kissed gently and relished in the feel of Ian's fingers in his hair. Even months after their first kiss, Mickey still had those familiar flutters and warmth in his stomach when Ian kissed him or responded to his touch at all really. 

The butterflies didn't come because of how Mickey felt towards Ian, they came because Ian felt the same way- without the pressure of being kissed back, or the beautiful feel of his hands on Mickey, he wouldn't have them at all. He was in love with Ian's love more than anything.

Ian hummed a little, arching off the bed before pulling Mickey back to his mouth, kissing him passionately. He reached into Ian's pajama bottoms and gripped his dick, giggling a little when he found it hard already, unsurprisingly. He started stroking it slowly, not daring to remove his mouth from Ian's. If he had it his way, he would just breathe from Ian's lungs if that meant he could kiss him all the damn time. He would kiss Ian until his own lungs burned and ached before he would pull away. 

"Hey," Ian mumbled against Mickey, both panting as he pulled away just enough to make eye contact, his hand still moving. "What- what did Damion mean? When he said-  _fuck-"_ his eyes fell shut and he fisted Mickey's hair harshly as he quickened his pace, watching the look of ecstasy on his boyfriend's face with pleasure. "Okay, wait, stop," he said breathily, panting as he pushed his hand off of him. 

Mickey groaned in irritation. "Baby, I've established a  _mood_ here, and you're ruining it," he complained, sitting back up and running a hand through his hair. "Why do you wanna talk about him and his wrinkly old ball sack?"

Ian pressed his palms into his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to come to. "What did he mean when he said 'thirty two and no jail time'? You're only twenty three," he finally spit out, uncovering his eyes to look at Mickey. "Do you have to be a certain age to be made? Did you just lie to them about it? Mandy said that she didn't know when I asked her about it."

Just like that, Mickey began sobering up, and ran a hand down his face. Mandy knew damn well what Damion meant when he said that, she just didn't want to have to deal with Ian when he found out. "When he said thirty two..." he licked his lips and looked down, trying to catch his breath as well. "He wasn't talking about my age," he admitted, and Ian shook his head, obviously still not understanding. 

"I don't get it. Why else would it be impressive that you haven't been in jai-" he cut himself off, looking directly through Mickey as his jaw dropped a little. Mickey groaned and dropped his forehead onto Ian's chest. "Is that... your body count?" he asked nervously, and Mickey bit his lips together, not bothering to answer. 

When Ian realized that he was right, the night could go one of three ways. Number one: he could be totally appalled and shove Mickey off of him, then storm out of the house and go to Nathan's place or some other friend that would undoubtedly piss Mickey off. Number two: he could swallow the fact for now and finish fucking Mickey, prepared to talk about it in the morning after some rough, angry sex (Mickey wouldn't mind that option). Or, number three: Ian could shudder with the fact and pull Mickey back down, begging him to bring out the mobster side of himself again while they fuck and just let it fuel things (that would be ideal).

He pushed at Mickey gently, and he rose, swallowing thickly before sitting up so he could look down at Ian nervously. "You know what that makes me wanna do?" he said, running his hands up Mickey's thighs, still covered in his dress pants. He cocked his head to the side a little, pretty sure he knew where it was going but still a little wary. "It makes me wanna break that little code of silence you told me about," he said, shifting as he swallowed. Mickey watched his Adam's apple bob, eyebrows still furrowed. "What was it called? Omerta?" he asked, breath quickening; Mickey ran his fingers up Ian's chest slowly, wrapping them gently around his throat and feeling his fast pulse beat into his hand. Either Ian was really nervous, really angry, or really turned on- or a combination of the three, which is what Mickey expected more than anything. 

"Am I gonna have to get that tie back up here?" he asked quietly, testing the waters carefully, the entire room spinning- he had been temporarily sobered at the dangerous discussion they had been pursuing, but as Ian wiggled a little beneath him, he felt a little more relaxed, and his body took that as a sign to return to intoxication. Ian nodded, tilting his head back a bit in what looked like a request for a kiss. 

Mickey nervously started leaning down, more scared that Ian was uncomfortable now than anything. He reached up and gripped the dark hair before pulling Mickey down roughly, meeting his mouth with kisses that were far more hot and needy than before. He kissed back with more relief than anything, and reached up to cradle Ian's face between his hands, his throat closing a little in a mixture of terror and relief.

After a few moments he pulled away and reached to the floor, grabbing the first tie he felt before crawling up Ian's body and taking his hands above his head gently, tying them with the cloth before reaching up and threading it through the headboard. "Who the fuck are you tying up, a puppy?" Ian finally snapped a little, and Mickey looked down at his in surprise. "What if Benny actually decided to snitch, huh? What if  _I_ decided to snitch? Would you be this gentle then?" he asked, trying to egg Mickey on. He pulled the knot a little tighter, but was still unsure of what was really happening, his brain foggy and drunk. 

"No..." he replied, stepping off of Ian to search for another tie. 

"What if I'm wired right now? What if I've been recording the whole night and want to get you tanked for prostitution, possession with intent to sell and racketeering?" he continued, watching Mickey as he pulled gently against the binding. Immediately Mickey tensed a little and he looked over; obviously Ian  _wasn't_ wired, but those were all crimes he was guilty of committing that very night. 

He picked up a black silk tie and started walking back to the bed. He tossed the tie onto Ian's bare torso and stripped himself of his pants and boxers, grabbing the lube and condoms from his bedside table and throwing them onto the bed haphazardly. It seemed as though Ian knew exactly what to say to make Mickey shift involuntarily into his business mode. If  _anyone_ ratted, he would be in a fuck ton of trouble- even if it was Ian. Hell, especially if it was Ian; he would feel so utterly betrayed that he would probably never trust anyone again- in fact, he would pour his heart and soul into the mob after that and take out anyone who squealed with pleasure. Of course, he'd make sure Ian was nestled safely into Witness Protection and ensure that no one touched him, but that wouldn't make him any less hurt or bitter. 

With that thought in mind he crawled back onto Ian's chest, face stony and looked down at his boyfriend, whose eyes held a mixture of excitement and anxiety. He grabbed the tie and leaned down to kiss Ian a few more times, biting at his lips roughly before he pulled back and held the tie in front of Ian's lips. 

"Open," he commanded, and Ian raised a sly eyebrow before opening his mouth, eyes lighting up as Mickey put shoved the fabric into his mouth roughly and pulled it around the back of Ian's head, tying it snugly. He admired the look of Ian completely tied up in front of him, chest rising and falling rapidly before he leaned down and kissed his neck, nipping at it before he started rolling his hips against Ian's, who groaned a bit, the sound muffled.

Mickey reached up and pressed his hand over Ian's mouth and the tie. "Not a fucking sound," he demanded, his voice practically a growl. "Got it?" Ian nodded quickly, and he felt the hot air puffing out of his mouth against his hand. He pulled back and started kissing down Ian's chest, running his hands around to Ian's back to see if there was anything taped there. 

Once he reached Ian's waistband, he hooked his fingers into it and tugged them down harshly before pulling them off altogether and tossing them onto the floor. He reached up for the lube and took Ian's cock into his mouth without any warning. Ian's breath hitched and quickened, but he didn't make any clear sounds. Mickey coated his fingers and glanced up at Ian, whose head was thrown back before he pushed them into Ian's ass, grinning a little around him when he made a small noise of surprise. He curled his fingers before pushing them up and finding Ian's prostate. 

His breathing was heavy and his hands were straining against the ties as Mickey bobbed his mouth over Ian's shaft. He scissored his fingers a little and licked up his dick once more before pulling off and removing his fingers. He slid a condom on and slicked his dick with lube before crawling up Ian's body again, running a hand through the ginger hair and admiring his heavy lidded eyes and panting form before pushing into Ian. 

He groaned a little and leaned down to kiss his neck, reaching down to stroke Ian as he pulled back and thrusted into him again, starting a steady pace and sucking on his neck. He was such a bottom that he often forgot how good it felt to top, and the moment Ian made a small whimpering noise signalling that he found his prostate, he moaned a little and made a point of repeating the motion, causing Ian to strain against the tie. 

"You're gonna chafe your wrists," he said quietly, his head light and dizzy as he quickened his pace, groaning into Ian's neck. The latter made a noise akin to a whine and Mickey pulled his head back to make eye contact, raising an eyebrow. "Not. A. Sound," he repeated, pulling the tie roughly from Ian's mouth with his free hand and pressing two fingers to Ian's lips. He immediately started sucking in Mickey's fingers, biting down on them a little as Mickey slammed into him roughly. 

He already felt himself approaching his climax and slowed his pace a little to savor his last few thrusts, removing his fingers from Ian's mouth to put them around his throat, not complaining when he moaned and arched off the bed, his eyes rolling back in his head. He leaned in and kissed Ian roughly, giving one more hard thrust before he and Ian came moments apart, and he released his throat, kissing him through his climax and breathing from Ian's mouth. 

He pulled back to catch his breath for a moment before pulling out of Ian and tossing his condom into the garbage. "Fuckin' Christ," he commented, pressing his lips to Ian's quickly. He wiped Ian off with a tshirt from the floor and leaned up to kiss him again. Ian arched off the bed and groaned into the kiss, melting beneath Mickey's touch until he pulled away again, dizzy and disoriented. He made a split decision and stood up unsteadily, walking away. 

"W- babe- Mickey! Can you untie me? Where are you even fucking going?" he asked, tugging against the bindings and watching Mickey stumble towards the bathroom.

"I gotta throw up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is later than we were all expecting, i knooow  
> i'm sorry beautifuls :(  
> also i feel like your kink expectations were definitely not met, but it's fine  
> please commenntttt  
> i love you lottssss and ill try to update faster this time  
> comment comment comment you radiating buckets of unicorns <3  
> love ya


	43. Chapter 43

Mickey spent the next day mostly in the bathroom bent over a toilet, with one of the worst hangovers in his life. Ian came in a couple of times and rubbed his back, laughing in Mickey's face when he asked for a kiss. He ended up giving him a kiss on the forehead and dropping off saltine crackers and white soda before leaving again. 

Sometime around noon, he was sitting next to his sink, back against the wall when his phone started ringing. He sighed and picked it up to see Benny's contact info on it. He debated simply chucking it against the wall and passing out in the bathtub, but answered anyways and lifted it to his ear. 

"Yeah," he said, running a hand down his face. 

"Hey, Mickey, yeah, we have a bit of a- bit of a situation," he said,  barely speaking  loud enough to be heard over whatever shouting and crashing was happening in the background. 

Mickey sat up straighter and swallowed, "What's going on?"

"Well, Mason's trial was today and he was found innocent-" Mickey scoffed, rolling his eyes. "-and I just drove him home. Rossi is going crazy, Mickey, I don't know what to do," he rushed through the words, and another crash sounded behind him. "He's pelting shit at Mason and yelling, I need your help, please."

Mickey groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. "Fuck, Benny, I'll only make shit worse," he said, and he was probably right. 

"No, you won't, Rossi really likes you," he said, cursing a little after a shattering noise. "Please?"

"I'll be there soon," he sighed, hanging up before he could hear a response. Mickey reluctantly pulled himself up off the ground, using the sink for support. Once he was standing, he reached for his toothbrush and brushed his teeth quickly, gagging a little after he spit, still pretty heavily hungover. 

Even so, he bucked up and changed into jeans and a black button up along with his leather jacket. He packed his Glock and a pair of brass knuckles into his inner pocket just in case his appearance turned the situation even farther south. Once he exited his room, he heard laughter coming from the living room, like he always did whenever Mandy and Ian were together. It was a comforting sound, and it drew him towards them like a moth to a flame. 

"Where are  you going?" Mandy asked with a smirk, looking him up and down. 

Ian stood up and scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Mick, an hour ago, you were so dizzy you couldn't even stand up on your own and now you're going out? I don't think so," he instructed, shaking his head a little. Mickey rolled his eyes and pursued the door anyways. 

"Gotta go," he shrugged. "Duty calls."

Mandy snorted from the couch and quietly repeated, "Duty." 

He flipped her off, but couldn't help the amused grin on his face. "Mason's out, got shit to do," he said, turning back to look at Ian, who stood a few feet away with his arms crossed, looking skeptical. "Come on, man, don't be like that," he sighed, shaking his head. 

Ian rolled his eyes and started turning away before Mickey grabbed his arm to turn him back, eyebrows raised. "Did you brush your teeth?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Mickey. 

He scoffed, "No, Ian, I left my mouth tasting like fucking  _vomit,_ just for you-"

Ian shut him up with a kiss, fisting Mickey's shirt in his hand, and though it didn't last long, it was just what Mickey wanted before he left, so he pulled away with a content grin. "Don't do anything fucking stupid," he instructed shoving Mickey away and releasing his collar.

"I make no promises," he chuckled a little, reaching for the door. "That bastard thinks he can try to hit me with a fucking car and he's got another thing coming."

Ian sighed heavily and returned to the couch, flopping next to Mandy. "He did actually hit someone with a car, you know, Mick. Just because he didn't get you doesn't mean he didn't get someone," he shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the television screen. 

"All the more reason," Mickey said, looking Ian up and down one more time before leaving, letting the door slam behind him.  

*** 

At Rossi's, it didn't take long to realize that Benny was right- he really did need help. Mickey could hear the yelling from across the street, and he jogged to the door, tucking his keys into his pants pocket. He ran a hand through his hair before opening the door and laying his eyes upon the ruin that used to be Rossi's living room. 

There were at least three vases shattered on the carpeting, from the looks of the glass. The table was littered with needles and tablets, and Mason was laying on the couch, blood all over his face, looking like he was struggling to breathe. Rossi was really laying it on him thick; Mickey hadn't expected such a gory mess when he'd arrived. Mason had always been like a son to Gustavo, and had treated him as such, despite never sponsoring him to be made. 

"Rossi," Mickey called cautiously, and Mason glanced up warily from the couch to look at Mickey, swallowing thickly before nodding to the kitchen, obviously in pain. He walked across the glass, wincing at the crunch beneath his footsteps. "Benny?" he asked, wanting to speak to both of them; he prayed he wouldn't find Benny in a similar state as Mason, because it would be hard to keep his hands off of Rossi after that. 

"Motherfuckin' Milkovich!" Rossi exclaimed from where he was sitting on top of the kitchen table, a bottle in his hands. There was a smile across his face, and he beckoned Mickey towards him. "Just so you know, Mason got back today," he slurred a little as Mickey approached him and slammed a hand down on his shoulder. "Now- Ducky says he just barely got off, but I'm still thinking of sending him to Crazy Joey's to teach him a lesson. What do you think?"

Mickey swallowed a little- Crazy Joey, otherwise known as Crazy Joey III, great great grandson to Joe Gallo, carried on his great great grandfather's legacy with pride. Joe Gallo was a freelancer in the mob and owned a lion that he kept caged in his basement to scare people into giving him owed money, or doing whatever else he wanted. What most people didn't know was that the lion was completely domesticated, and when he was alone, he let the beast roam around his house freely. 

Well, Crazy Joey III owned a tiger for similar reasons, and would let people pay him to trap someone in a cage with his feline (named Tigger if you could fucking believe that a gangster would name his 'intimidating tiger' after a Winnie the Pooh character). The point was to have the animal sniff around someone to scare the piss out of them, but he doubted that would really have much effect on Mason. He already knew all the secrets and tricks of the trade, so he wouldn't get anything out of it. 

"I don't know if that's exactly necessary," he admitted with a shrug. "From the looks of it, you beat enough of the idiocy out of him. If there's any left, he'll use it to get himself killed before you or I have to waste any money on a tiger to scare him."

Rossi laughed and squeezed Mickey's shoulder, pointing at him with the bottle. "You always know what to say, Milkovich," he chuckled. "You're probably right, you know. Anyways, you can have Mason as your little bitch for a while if you want," he said, waving his hand a bit. "I'm not gonna want his stupid ass doing any work for me for a while. I can't look at him without wanting to pistol whip the son of a bitch."

Mickey snickered a little but shook his head. "No thanks, Rossi. I'm trying to get along with him well enough that we don't kill one another, and having him around will definitely get him on my nerves," he admitted, leaning against the counter and watching as Rossi tipped the bottle back. 

"That guy out there is your crew, Mick," he said, pointing to the living room. "Don't have to like him, but you gotta tolerate him."

"And I will. I do," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Only when necessary, though."

He sighed and shrugged. "Good enough for me," he breathed, setting the bottle on the table and hopping off it. "Next time he tries anything on you and you're in the clear to whack him," he said as he started walking away, and Mickey's eyes widened. 

"What?"

"If Macchio does't have enough respect to know that he can't kill- or worse  _fail at killing-_ a made man, then he doesn't deserve the respect of letting him live," he called over his shoulder. "Benny's upstairs by the way. Heard you calling for him before."

Mickey watched him stumble down a hallway and belch before turning into a room and slamming the door behind him before he stood up and raced back into the living room, barely sparing a glance at Mason before he climbed the staircase. "Benny? Benny!" he shouted, concerned for the young kid he felt responsible for. 

"Yeah," he called back hoarsely from the bathroom. Mickey shoved the door open to see him sitting on the toilet with gauze pressed to the side of his neck, blood soaking the fabric. 

"What the  _fuck,"_ Mickey sighed, sitting on the toilet seat, directly opposite Benny. He pulled his arm away so he could get a look at the damage to Benny's neck. The cut was shallow, but long- probably done with a kitchen knife as opposed to a switchblade or something else Mickey would've expected. He would be fine- he wouldn't even need stitches, but that didn't make it any less infuriating. "What happened?"

Benny ran a hand down his face. "He just kept pounding Mason and talking about respect, and I thought he was gonna kill him when he smashed a vase on his head, so I said maybe he should stop and then..." he gestured up to his throat. "He had me against the wall and threatened me. I don't think he even meant for the knife to actually cut me, just to scare me, you know? But he was so far gone, he just pressed it too hard," he shrugged. "I'm just glad he left Mason alone after that. He's a dick, but he was the first one to explain anything to me when I started under Rossi, and he was nice to me. I don't know," he shook his head and put the gauze back onto the cut to soak up more of the bleeding. 

Mickey sighed as he watched before taking the first aid kit off of where it rested on the sink, taking out what he knew he needed. "I get it, man," he sighed. "It's rough when the only ones who actually act like they give a damn about you are just as fucked up as the rest of them."

He pulled Benny's hand away again and gestured to the garbage, urging him to throw the bloody gauze away. He scooted closer and pulled out an alcohol wipe, leaning in to clean off the cut. "Yeah, it's pretty shitty, but I'll get over it. I mean, you did right?" he asked, tiling his head to the side so Mickey could have better access to it. 

"I mean, I guess so?" he replied, furrowing his eyebrows and tossing the wipe in the trash before reaching for another one. "I was never really that attached to any of them at first. They were just clients- I was kind of a freelancer at the beginning before Rossi got his hands on me," he shrugged and pulled out the Neosporin and a cotton ball. He applied it to the cotton before applying it to the cut, continuing despite Benny's gasp. "Then it was just Sam and... I don't know, you I guess? I'm pretty good at keeping to myself when it comes to these assholes, I just know them. They don't really mean anything to me," he shrugged, tossing the cotton ball away and digging threw the first aid kit for bandaid big enough to cover it. "Sam is basically in the same boat as me, and you're... well you are too, I guess. You don't really wanna be here, but you don't exactly have a choice," he continued, settling to grab gauze and press it to the cut again, instructing Benny to hold it as he got out medical tape and started taping down the edges. "It's just upsetting that you're so young, you know? Like if you hadn't been born into this, you would have such a long life ahead of you and now you're practically middle age," he snorted and Benny rolled his eyes. "Sorry, man," he shrugged, pulling away once the makeshift bandaid was successfully taped to his skin. 

Benny sighed and returned his head upright, watching as Mickey shoved the kit under the sink and washed his hands. "It's alright," he shrugged, running a hand through his long hair. "Hey, I have some errands to run for Rossi today, but I'm still a little shaken," he admitted, meeting Mickey's eyes in the mirror. "Could you come with?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek. Mickey just wanted to get back home to Ian and Mandy, and Svetlana wherever she ran off to, but he couldn't leave poor little Benny to fend for himself. "Sure, kid, I'll come with," he sighed. 

Not even twenty minutes later, and Benny was in the passenger seat of the Mustang, fighting Mickey for the aux chord while he drove to Sam's place. "Come  _on,_ I have good taste in music, just let me play a song!" he pleaded, trying to get the chord back from Mickey's grip. 

"Taylor Swift, Benny? She's  _not_ good taste, who are you kidding?" he scoffed before Benny returned to his seat and crossed his arms. "What are you, a twelve year old girl in 2013?" 

He gasped and looked over at Mickey. "Her early music is far more expressive than her new shit!" he defended and Mickey just rolled his eyes. 

"No cigar, man," he shook his head in disappointment. "You don't get the privilege of the aux if you don't have good taste, sorry, I don't make the rules."

He scoffed and looked out the window angrily. "Whatever."

"What do we even need to get from Sam?" he asked, and Benny reached into his pocket for what looked like a list. "Did Rossi give you like a fucking grocery list?" he scoffed a little. 

Benny shrugged, "Look, I'm not gonna remember all these fuckin' numbers. I need something to remind me what he needs today. I've got picking up his goodies- that's drugs," he clarified, and Mickey chuckled a little. "Collecting from the East side, that's only like two people, and they should both have their money, otherwise I'm supposed to threaten them with Tigger, although I don't really know what that means. Then I have to talk to you about... oh shit, that's right."

Mickey looked over as Benny suddenly got quiet. "Talk to me about what?"

He licked his lips and folded the list up again before looking over at Mickey. "About Ian. Apparently Rossi wasn't too thrilled to hear that Ian had been lying to him about his name this whole time. He said Ian was pretty clear about the fact that he and Damion were over, although that doesn't really mean much. Anyways, he wants you to get a head start on the Solomon plan? I don't really know what that means, but I can't assume it's anything good..."

Mickey tried to take in a deep breath and count to ten, but ended up slamming a hand on the steering wheel and letting out an angry, "Fuck!" before slowing for a red light. 

"I know," he responded quietly. "Does that mean you're gonna have to... you know?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

Mickey looked over at him incredulously. "You think I'm gonna fucking off my own boyfriend?" he burst, throwing a hand up at Benny's idiocy. "Don't be fuckin' stupid. I just have to figure something else out."

"Hey, I don't know where your loyalties lie," he shrugged, and Mickey rolled his eyes. 

"You know damn well they aren't with Rossi," he replied pointedly, and Benny shrugged in assent. 

He chewed his lip as he studied Mickey closely. "Could you like  _pretend_ to kill Ian? I don't know how, but-"

"If I did that, he would have the leave the state," he admitted, running a hand over his mouth. "Trust me, Ben, I've thought about this shit. A lot."

He rested his elbow on the armrest and put his head in his palm. "Did you come up with anything?"

"Um... kind of? Mandy and I decided the best idea would be like-" he stopped talking, looking over at Benny suspiciously. 

"What?" he asked, looking out the window before returning his gaze to Mickey. "What did I do?" he repeated, and Mickey reached over, touching Benny's chest and torso to feel for a wire before he pushed his hand away. "Are you still on this? I'm not fucking wired, Mick! Eyes on the damn road," he sighed, crossing his arms. 

"You're not gonna say anything to Rossi? Or Mason?" he prompted and Benny nodded. 

He raised his right hand mockingly and said, "I do solemnly swear that whatever you say in this car shall stay between us, so help me God."

Mickey rolled his eyes but sighed. "Fine. Mandy and I thought that the most believable thing would be to stage a car crash. We figured we could make it look like I'm on my way to drop Ian off by Rossi and we could somehow get the car to explode, that way they wouldn't be able to identify the bodies anyway. I don't know where Ian and I would go after that, but... it's the only way for both of us to get out of it. And that's the only way to do it- I can't let Ian out alone after this, he'll have people on his tail for the rest of his life, so I'm gonna have to go with. Not that I'm complaining," he shrugged, running a hand through his hair as they pulled up in front of Sam's house. 

"Where would you get the bodies?" he asked. "If there's anything I can do to help, I will," he shrugged and Mickey glanced over appreciatively after putting the car in park. 

"Don't know yet. I'm sure it won't be hard to get a few, though. And thanks," he nodded, unbuckling and turning the car off. 

Benny hesitated for a minute before following suit. "You know, if Joey has any doctor friends with access to a morgue, I'm sure he would totally help. Although he's pretty loyal, who knows if he'd snitch you out," he added, shrugging a little. 

Just like that, though, Benny had sparked an idea. There was one doctor Mickey knew who was more dedicated to his patients than any he'd met before, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he would do anything in his power to help Mickey escape his dangerous, unhealthy lifestyle. Elliot had already offered his services to Mickey on more than one occasion, and he was positive that he had at least a few bodies in that underground, undocumented hospital of his. 

"You're fucking brilliant," he shook his head a little, suddenly feeling an enthusiastic laugh bubbling up his throat. He got out of the car and waited for Benny to get out before locking it, practically skipping to the door. 

The process would be difficult, long and incredibly dangerous, but with Elliot and Benny on his side, he was sure that they'd be able to pull it off. And they'd have to if Rossi was serious about Mickey getting a move on the Solomon project. 

He rang the doorbell, rocking back on his heels while Benny approached him. "What? Do you think Joey would help?" he asked. 

"Not Joey," he shook his head. "I'll explain later," he assured as Sam answered the door. 

His face appeared in the screen, and that easygoing smile spread across it upon seeing Mickey. "Mickey fuckin' Milkovich! How you doin' man? You kinda look like shit," he snorted, opening the door for Mickey to come in. He tilted his head to the side seeing Benny. "And Estabon, how are you?" he asked. Benny shrugged nervously. "We're gonna be staying downstairs today, actually. We had a bit of a... situation upstairs a few days ago and the fumes are toxic or something, I don't know."

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed and he looked back at an amused Benny as they followed him into the bottom part of the duplex, his jaw dropping upon seeing the inside. It was just like a normal apartment- in fact it reminded him a lot of Monica and Rachel's apartment on  _Friends._

Holy fuck that was a gay thing to think. 

"Wow, this is..."

Sam shrugged, pulling a bottle of soda from the fridge. "Yeah, everyone always says that. I'm not a drug dealer all the time, you know. I've got a life," he chuckled, and Mickey sat at the table, watching as Benny sat across from him. 

"Well, it's really nice. So... this situation upstairs. Does it mean that you're temporarily closed?" Mickey inquired, resting his folded hands on the table and watching as Sam hopped up onto the counter. 

He shrugged a bit, drinking his dark soda. "Yep, for a while at least. Chemical fires will do that to you. So... no coke for now," he said, looking down at his bottle before grinning and turning it so the label was facing Mickey. "Is Pepsi okay?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo yo yo mothertruckers  
> guess who updated quick  
> the chapter is like normal length instead of longer like the other ones have been, but it's mostly all plot  
> what do you think???  
> any grand ideas on the ending? i came up with exactly what i wanted to end it with a couple weeks ago, i just wasn't 100% about how i was gonna get there, but i figured it out and i'm super excited! i'm sad as FUCK that the story is gonna be over in only *SEVEN* chapters, but hey, it's been an exciting journey and you've all been incredible!!  
> ANYWAYS BEFORE I GET ANY MORE EMOTIONAL  
> please please comment!!!!!!! I neeeeeed those comments <3  
> i love you all more than like anything???  
> at all????  
> alright my glittering, homocidal little gangsters, i'll update soon, but also not too soon because i want to at least try to stretch the story out a little longer :(  
> sap time OVER  
> okay.   
> this was a really long author's note, hmu if you actually read the whole thing lmao   
> ok love ya <3 <3 <3


	44. Chapter 44

After chatting with Sam for a few hours, Mickey and Benny left, nothing crossed off of Rossi's list yet. They decided they'd make rounds on collections for Rossi's protection racket and headed to South Brooklyn where most of their soon to be victims resided. 

"So, what's the game plan here? Are we gonna go see this doctor friend of yours?" Benny asked, looking at Mickey intensely. He glanced over with furrowed eyebrows. 

"Well,  _I'm_ going to go see my doctor friend later, but you're gonna go back by Rossi's," he assured, turning back to the road and sinking into his seat. He really just wanted to go home and hang out with his boyfriend and sister. 

Benny scoffed and crossed his arms. "No I'm not," he shook his head. "I can't go back there, Mickey."

"How old are you, kid?" he asked, glancing over. At first he'd thought Benny was around seventeen, and the way he was acting was very reminiscent of an adolescent. 

He sighed, rolling his eyes and looking back out the window. "Eighteen," he admitted, fingering the hem of his shirt. 

"Fuck," Mickey rubbed his face a little. He was way too young to be in the Life already, but when you're born into it, there's really no helping it. "I'll think about letting you come with, but someone has to stay with him and Mason to make sure he doesn't kill the fucker."

He scoffed, "Oh please, like you give a fuck whether Mason lives or not." 

"Why are you getting fuckin' snippy with me, man? I didn't fuckin' do anything so don't take that shit out on me," he barked, taking a sharp left. Benny didn't say anything, just pouted and looked out his window. "Who do we have to see first?"

After rattling off the list of names, Benny just threw the sheet of paper at Mickey, who snorted when it floated right back into Benny's lap. "How the fuck did you get made?" he scoffed, looking back to Mickey. "You literally want to fake your own death to get out," he shook his head. "Mason has been devoted since day one and he's still nothing. How did you do it?"

"I didn't do it," he replied vaguely, his grip tightening on the wheel. It was clear that Benny was looking to pick a fight, and Mickey was really not in the mood, especially when he was doing something nice for the fucker. He didn't have to help with his fucking to do list, he could just drop Benny off on some corner and drive off. "I'm loyal and Rossi is impulsive, so he sponsored me really early. I didn't have to earn my button since I already had a body count before I even met him," he shrugged, pulling up in front of their first client's business. 

"What's your count?"

He sighed and turned the car off. Mickey didn't like talking about his kill count, it made him feel so animalistic. "Thirty two," he admitted and Benny's jaw dropped. "I thought Rossi would have told you that."

"Thirty fucking two!? That's gotta be some sort of fucking record. How!?" he ran a hand through his hair. "Mickey, how do you even function?"

He rolled his eyes. "I know how business works, and this is a business, okay? I'm smart and efficient about it so I get it done. I don't  _like_ it, but it pays the bills. Can we be done talking about this, please?" he asked, already getting out of the car. He rounded the back to get into the trunk. He always kept supplies in it for such occasions, such as brass knuckles, a baseball bat, other things that could come off as semi-inconspicuous. 

Benny grabbed the knuckles and Mickey the bat before they started walking to the door. It was a laundromat and the owner was a middle aged white guy named Charles Bacon- a name like that just asked for an ass kicking. Mickey set his shoulders and felt himself slide into a gangster walk, his strides growing longer and his arms swinging a little wider. Benny looked him over and did the same; the whole surrounding area seemed to shrink beneath the suited men. Mickey found that if he held himself like a mobster would, he could slip into character far easier. 

He kicked the glass door so it swung open, and he looked around to see a couple people folding laundry. Before doing or saying anything stupid, he looked around the shitty little store for any security cameras. "Anyone seen Mr. Bacon?" he asked, holding the bat behind his back innocently. 

One of the younger women looked both Benny and Mickey up and down before smirking and pointing to the back. He nodded at her and started making his way to the back, where he stuck his head into what looked like an office. 

"Well, hey there, Charlie," he said, cocking his head to the side a little. Charles looked up from the desk and straightened immediately. 

"How can I help you?" he asked, his voice immediately shaky. Mickey turned to Benny, who nodded and closed the door, standing on the other side to keep a lookout. 

He shook his head, swinging his bat nonchalantly. "I think the real question is how can  _we_ help  _you?"_ he asked, smiling a bit and leaning over the desk to look at Charles a little closer. He swallowed thickly as Mickey neared him and chewed on his lip a bit. "You know we can't look out for you if you don't cough up the cash, little piggy," he whispered. "Tell me you have the money and this can go real smooth."

"I have it," he nodded. "Your little friend out there took more than care of it last time," he said shakily, reaching under the desk for what Mickey assumed was money. Of course, it could never be that easy and he stood swiftly, raising an old handgun and bringing it to the level of Mickey's head. 

He smiled at the poor, endearing little man and sighed, looking at him expectantly. "Please, go ahead with whatever threat you've rehearsed, I'd love to hear it," he said, holding the bat in front of him and rocking back on his heels. 

Charles blinked quickly and swallowed. "You two need to leave and-and not come back here. If you don't go now, I-I'll shoot," he nodded. "In self defense."

"That was good! I have a few suggestions, though," Mickey replied before he reached up and knocked the gun from Bacon's hands with his bat, then jumped over the desk, pinning the other man to the wall and keeping him put by pressing the bat to his neck. "If you can't handle the heat, don't try to use it, mkay?" he asked, ignoring the man's sniveling. "If you're gonna agree to pay a fee by a certain date, don't fucking back down. I'd hate to see you black and blue, Bacon," he nodded convincingly. "Unfortunately, you will be black and blue after today- just enough to remind you of the importance of a deal. Sound good to you?" 

He shook his head, choking on the bat pressed against him. "I have the money," he strained, trying to shove against Mickey's hard body. 

"That's the way to do it!" he praised, pressing the bat forward just barely. "If you try to shoot me again, I'll crack your fucking skull open with this bat. Sound good to you?" He nodded vigorously and Mickey finally let him down, watching as he bent at the waist and coughed to catch his breath. "Today, Bacon."

He went to his safe, resting on the left of his desk. He opened it to reveal stacks of cash and grabbed the leftmost two, swallowing before handing them to Mickey. "Now go,  _please,"_ he begged, and Mickey smirked. 

"Just a second, Charlie, don't you wanna spend some time with me?" he asked, placing the money on the desk and counting the bills quickly. He didn't answer, simply watched until Mickey wadded it up and stuffed it into the interior of his jacket pocket. "Thanks for the cooperation, Bacon. Squeal and we'll come back for you," he said with a wink over his shoulder before he walked out of the office and shut the door behind him. 

"That was quick," Benny commented, looking Mickey up and down as he walked towards the exit. "And quiet. Did he have the money?"

He shrugged and shoved out the door, the little bell on the top ringing to announce their exit to everyone in the shop. "Took a little persuading but he had it. Where to next?" he asked. As much as he hated to admit it, Mickey was feeling a little nostalgic doing collections. He'd only ever done them for Rossi once or twice, but back when he managed the old Rub and Tug, he and his brothers ran a little racket and had to gather collections every once in a while together. 

"Um, Benjamin Butler," he said before looking back at Mickey, who slid into the car. 

He shook his head and started the engine. "Why do all these fuckers have the stupid names on the fuckin' plane-"

He was cut off as his phone started blasting from his pocket. He reached for it and chewed the inside of his cheek when he saw it was Ian. On one hand, if he answered it he would be distracted the rest of the day, and if he didn't he would be distracted wondering why Ian was calling him. Obviously he answered the phone. "Yeah?"

"Hey, Mick, um... I have a bit of a situation," he said, his voice wavering. "I need you."

He tensed immediately and glanced at Benny. "What happened? Where are you?"

"Rossi's place," he answered and Mickey's eyebrows raised as he pulled haphazardly away from the curb. 

"What the  _fuck_ are you doing there without Benny or me?" he burst, his heart rate immediately speeding up in a combination of fear, anxiety and anger. 

He stuttered a little before he replied, "Well, Joey came to pick me up and I thought you were gonna be here so I was gonna surprise you, then he just dropped me off and left and when I came in it was... um, it was just Mason like passed out on the couch and Rossi was waiting for me, and he... he wanted to-"

He didn't even have to finish his sentence for Mickey's grip on the wheel to tighten. "Did you do it?" he practically seethed and Ian gasped. 

"No I didn't fucking do it!" he hissed into the phone. "Just- I sort of meant to- well I was planning on- Mickey, you just need to get here, please."

"Ian, what the fuck happened?! Just spit it the fuck out," he commanded. 

"Rossi started to get on me and I tried to say no so he got angry and started yelling then came after me and I accidentally shot him," he said in one long breath. 

Mickey's mouth opened as he whipped around a corner, and he looked to Benny. "You... accidentally shot him?" he repeated, and the words sounded foreign and wrong coming out of his mouth. 

"Yes, Mickey, I accidentally shot him! He was choking me and there were like four guns on the table and I grabbed one and-" he cut himself off, and Mickey could practically see the manic look in his eyes, the gun possibly still in his hand as he paced back and forth in the kitchen. 

Holy fucking shit. Mickey licked his lips and tried to focus. His thoughts were completely scattered. Ian had shot a Capo- no one could shoot a Capo without special permission. Especially not someone who wasn't even a part of the Life. "Is he dead?" he asked, chewing his nail nervously as he sped down the highway to get back to the house. 

"I don't... I don't know," he said quietly. "I've been kind of scared to check," he admitted. 

"Fuck," Mickey hissed and looked to Benny. 

His eyebrows were raised. "What's going on?" he asked, eyes wide. 

"Gallagher?" a muffled voice came from the other end. Fucking Mason. 

"Is that Mason? Does he know? Let me talk to him," he demanded. He literally had no idea what to do. No idea how they were gonna get out of this. 

There was muffled speech on the other end of the line before a scream of agony. "Mason!" Ian hissed, and then there were a series of confusing noises. 

Mickey got off on the appropriate exit and gassed it, eyebrows furrowed. "Ian shot Rossi," he whispered to Benny, whose mouth opened wide with surprise. 

"Ian? Ian, I'm gonna be there in literally two minutes, what's going on?" he asked, and his boyfriend didn't answer, the only other noise a shuffling followed by murmuring voices he couldn't quite make out. 

"Is he dead?" Benny asked and Mickey shrugged. "What happened? Where did he shoot him?"

"Benny, I don't fuckin' know, okay? We'll be there in literally thirty fuckin' seconds, chill!" he barked, although he was the farthest thing from chill. Ian could literally die for this. Actually shooting a Capo was way worse than cheating on one with his soldier. "Holy fuck," he muttered as he slammed to a stop in front of the house, not even bothering to turn the car off before he sprinted inside. 

The sight before him was a sorry one, more pitiful than anything. Rossi lay on his back with blood pooling around his ribs, eyes fluttered shut. Mason was kneeling next to him, bent over the body and clutching it for dear life, sobs obviously wracking his body. Ian stood a few feet away, under the threshold that lead from the living room into the kitchen, the gun still in his hand. His arms were slightly crossed, although the one holding the gun was shifted up to cover his mouth as he watched the soap opera scene before him. 

Immediately, Mickey grimaced and froze. Ian looked over and sighed in relief before letting his hands fall to his sides. He started towards Mickey and stopped short at the look that overcame him- his face must have morphed into the usual murderous jealousy he felt but never expressed around Rossi and Ian. Not only were there what looked like hickeys on his neck, but there were also bruises that mimicked fingers accompanied by a split lip that had a trail of blood dripping down his chin and a bruise on his jaw. A glance down at his knuckles proved that there was definitely a fight before it happened, because they were bloody and bruised as well, and Mickey could only imagine what the rest of Ian looked like. 

He bit his lip hard to keep his anger at bay, especially since Rossi was laying unconscious and possibly  _dead_ on the floor a few mere feet away. Mickey started walking towards the body, giving Ian's hand a fast squeeze as he passed him and crouched beside Mason, placing a hand on his back. 

"Mason, you have to get up so we can check his vitals," he murmured, and Mason took in a deep breath, choking a little. Mickey had dealt with his fair share of grieving sons and daughters, which is exactly what Mason was in this scenario, so he had an idea of how to address the situation. "Mason," he repeated quietly, rubbing his back a little. It was enthralling just how great of an actor he was when he had to be, because Mickey still wanted to gut both Mason  _and_ Gustavo at the moment, but here he was showing compassion to one and trying to save the other's life. 

Mason obeyed a few moments later, and when he lifted his head from where it had been resting on Rossi's chest, it was stained with tears and there was pure pain in his eyes. Mickey felt himself collapse a little at such a surprising sight. Mason was really hurting, and it shook Mickey to his core seeing the raw grief across his face. 

Still, he swallowed thickly and put two fingers to Rossi's neck, feeling a faint and weak pulse, but a pulse nonetheless. "He's still breathing," he announced shedding his leather jacket and tossing it, then taking off his suit coat and pressing it into the wound hard. "Mason," he snapped, pointing to the cloth. "Press hard," he demanded, and Mason obliged in an instant, putting pressure on the wound right away. Mickey waved Ian over and put his hand out for the gun, which he handed over willingly. Mickey stood, careful to avoid stepping in the blood and grabbed a dish towel from the counter. He wiped the gun carefully to rid it of finger prints and set it in Rossi's outstretched hand. 

"What are you doing?" Benny asked, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched Mason with rapt fascination, visibly shaken by the sight. 

Mickey ran a hand through his hair and searched the kitchen for a phone. "Ian didn't shoot him," he said plainly, voice stern and low. He seemed to be the only one in the house that was able to compose himself, and they all looked at him dumbfounded as he picked up Rossi's phone. 

"Yes I di-"

"Rossi tried to commit suicide," he confirmed, clicking the emergency call button on the locked device and dialing 911 before raising a finger to his lips and turning around. 

"Nine-one-on, what's your emergency?" the dispatcher asked monotonously. 

"I just got home and- and I think my friend shot himself," he said, trying to sound shaken. 

After answering a few of her questions and giving her the location, he hung up and snapped. "We have to get the fuck out of here," he said to Ian. 

"Wha- Mickey, please, don't leave me," Mason begged, looking up with pleading eyes as he continued pressing into the wound. 

He swallowed, standing in front of Ian with his eyebrows drawn together. "Mason, we have to go," he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Ian grabbed his arm and started dragging him away, his eyes still locked with Mason's pained ones. Benny walked over and knelt across from him, placing his hands over Mason's to help. He started saying something to the blonde man as Mickey allowed himself to be pulled out of the house. They ran to the car and the tires squealed as Mickey sped away dangerously fast. 

"Holy fuck," he breathed, a hand in his hair. "Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck," he repeated as though he were chanting it. His pulse was still beating a mile a minute, and he thanked God that he was able to pull it together at least long enough to create a story for the situation and all who were witness to it. They'd have to iron out the details later- he doubted Rossi would be waking up any time soon, especially since they were bound to give him the wrong dosage in relation to how much heroin he'd probably ingested today. 

Ian was wringing his hands nervously in the passenger seat and chewing the hell out of his already split lip. "I thought I killed him," he said quietly, looking straight ahead. 

"Wait til we get home," he responded, shaking his head and swallowing. He heard the orchestra of sirens from afar and hoped that Mason was able to keep it together enough to keep their alibi sound. Of course, he was sure they'd hospitalize him as well, considering the damage Rossi had done to him. 

He was still shaken thinking about just how fucked up what he'd just witnessed was. Not the shooting, no, that was without a doubt one hundred percent warranted. What was fucked up was Mason's reaction; Rossi beat the shit out of him not even four hours ago, to the point where Benny needed Mickey's help to make sure he didn't kill him. Then, after being pounded to an inch of his life, Mason dragged himself up and immediately latched to Rossi's side, like a loyal dog. It didn't matter how abused he was, he would always return to his master- and that's what Rossi was to him. A master. He'd taken care of Mason for a long time, and from a young age- shown him kindness and love, and trained him to be the perfect, obedient pet. 

Somehow, they were already in the parking garage, and Mickey swallowed, resting his head on the wheel for a moment. He needed to clear his head, needed the mess of thoughts to settle so he could think of a plan. Depending on what Rossi's state ended up being, this could go one of two ways for the two of them. If he turned out in stable condition, there's no doubt he would have a contract out for Ian in a matter of seconds-  _or_ he would want Ian at his side 24/7, which was practically the same thing. If he turned comatose or even  _died,_ there would eventually be a contract out for Mason or Mickey, since they were the only two closest to him who had been with him that day. That meant they would have to get the fuck out of the state immediately. Well, it meant that Mickey did at least, but there would still be danger for Ian, he doubted the ginger would be okay with him leaving alone. 

"Mickey," Ian said shakily, and he lifted his head to look over. "Let's go inside," he suggested and Mickey nodded, blinking a few times. 

He waited for Ian to round the car, then let his boyfriend take his hand and lead him to the apartment. Inside, Mandy was laying passed out with her feet propped up on a man, and Mickey was about to snap when he realized that it was Lip. 

"Hey, Ian, what's up?" he asked, glancing down at Mandy. 

Ian shrugged, and chuckled a little before he started laughing. Not a minute later and the laughter gave way to full, hysterical cackling and Mickey nodded. "That seems about right," he sighed, and nodded at Lip. "We'll be back."

He lead Ian to the bedroom, still erupting with laughter to the point that his eyes were getting wet. Mickey sat him down on the bed, kneeling directly in front of him on the mattress. "Ian," he said softly, taking his hands and trying to get him to look over. "Ian, look at me," he continued until he looked up and met Mickey's eyes, unshed tears plaguing them. "Fuck," he whispered as Ian settled, swallowing and breathing shakily through his mouth. He brought his hands up to either side of Ian's face and settled their foreheads together. "It's okay," he assured, and Ian reached up to hold his wrists, trying to shift closer. "Everything's gonna be okay."

After his breathing slowed, he pulled one of Mickey's hands from his face and kissed his palm before linking their fingers and dropping them into his lap. Once he knew Ian's panic attack had subsided, he pulled away and kissed his forehead before brushing the red hair back from his boyfriend's face. "I thought I killed him, Mick," he said quietly, looking up at Mickey through his lashes. 

He nodded, eyes still focused on Ian's hair. "I know, baby," he said in response, pulling his hand from Ian's to start a full body scan. The bruises on his neck were only the beginning, because as he pulled Ian's shirt over his head, his eyes fell upon the bruises and angry red marks littering Ian's torso. His chest erupted in a red hot rage and he sneered, running his fingers down his boyfriend's chest gently. He looked at his arms next, both covered in little finger marks from being grabbed too tight, especially on his wrists. 

Two minutes later and Mickey was sitting on Ian's hips, looking down at him laying on his back with first aid kit to his right. He cleaned the cuts and made sure none of the bruises looked like internal bleeding before he moved to his face. "I thought I killed him," he whispered, even quieter than before, his gaze set on the ceiling. 

"But you didn't," Mickey replied, hoping it was reassuring. He set the kit on the bedside table and pressed a soft kiss to Ian's split lip before lying beside him, settling his forehead on the side of Ian's head and wrapping a hand around to cradle the opposite side of his face. 

Ian reached up to hold Mickey before he sighed. "I wish I would've," he admitted, his voice less than a whisper, breaking in the center of the phrase. 

Mickey studied him before nodding a little and kissing his cheek softly. "Yeah... I do too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ?????  
>  I don't...???   
> Know???  
> If i like this?????  
> so... if you like it... then i like it  
> if you don't like it  
> idk  
> please please comment I LOOOVVVEEE L O V E THE LITTLE CONVO HAPPENING WITH THEORIES IT'S AMAZING AND I LOVE IT KEEP DOING IT PLS EVEN THOUGH SOME OF YOUR THEORIES ARE MORE INTERESTING THAN THE ACTUAL STORY LMFAO  
> okay pls comment and I'll update soon. i love you all more than life itself my small, fluffy tiger cubs.


	45. Chapter 45

It took Ian no time at all to fall asleep, probably crashing from his adrenaline high, but Mickey was wide awake. He waited for the call he knew he would get from either Benny or Mason with an update, still holding Ian. He knew that the minute he moved his boyfriend would start to freak out, especially when he was still so shaken about the whole ordeal. 

After an hour of running his thumb along Ian's cheek and watching him sleep in a totally non-creeper way, Mickey's phone started vibrating in his pocket. He slowly sat up and detached himself from Ian and crawled off the bed before he answered it, and even then he went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. 

"Hello?" he asked, chewing on his thumbnail anxiously. 

"Mickey," Benny breathed, his voice shaking but firm. "Holy shit, Mickey, I don't know what to do," he whispered and Mickey sat on the toilet cover, eyebrows furrowed. 

"What's going on?" he asked, his leg shaking. It would really fuckin' suck if he had to leave Ian there sleeping alone, but if he had to he would without a doubt. He didn't want Ian alone, but he wanted him safe. 

There was a small rustling sound on the other end and a murmured apology before Benny answered his question. "I'm at the hospital, I didn't have a chance to talk to you earlier," he explained. "Rossi is in the ICU and Mason- fuck," he breathed in deeply, his voice cracking a bit. "When you and Ian left he took the gun and... and he fucking..."

"Did he shoot himself?" Mickey asked gently when Benny seemed unable to finish his story. 

Benny chuckled breathily. "He may as well have," he sniffed. "He told the EMT's that he shot Rossi," he whispered, obviously unable to speak. "So they- they took him away in a cop car and now he's gonna go down for attempted murder for real," he gasped. "And they're gonna fucking kill him in prison, Mickey, we both know they will," he said with a gulp. 

"Fuck," Mickey breathed, resting his head in his palm. "Why the fuck would he do that?"

"Because he knows that they'll have him whacked while he's in the joint! And because  _you_ fucking left him," he seethed and Mickey closed his eyes tightly. "I wasn't able to stop him from doing stupid shit like you would've been able to," he added, his voice watery. "I don't know what to do, Mickey, I'm literally all alone at the hospital just waiting for an update on Rossi," he explained. 

Mickey licked his lips and chewed on his cheek a bit before he stood from the toilet. "Do you want me to come?" he asked, sighing deeply. The whole situation was completely fucked, and at this point, Mickey doubted there was really anything he could do that would make it better. He did have to admit that Mason practically saved his and Ian's asses by saying he did it, though, which made him wonder: why?  _Why_ would Mason do that?

"I don't know," he admitted, and then breathed deeply. "Kind of, but I also kind of want you to go talk to Mason. There's no helping him now, but... but you need to talk to him before they get to him, Mick," he said, and Mickey could tell he was crying. It broke his heart to hear the fragility of the teenage boy he'd grown so fond of. "Please, just... try and put it behind you, for his sake? For  _my_ sake. I know you two have had your shit in the past, but we both know he's gonna get killed in there. All three of us know that, it's the whole reason he fucking did it. Please let him go with a clean conscience," he begged, and Mickey pressed his lips together. 

Benny was right. No one deserved to know they were going to die without settling their disputes, even if Mickey didn't want it settled. And at that point, he wasn't sure whether he did or not. Really, his feud with Mason had gone on long enough, and if he was going to get hit, Mickey would like it to be off of his shoulders. So he nodded, even though Benny couldn't see him, and made the decision. 

"Okay, Benny, I'll... I'll go visit him," he nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. "Call me if anything is updated with Rossi's condition, okay? I'll come straight to you afterwards."

Benny agreed quietly before he hung up, and Mickey blinked a few times, soaking it all in. This is what he'd been wanting, wasn't it? Rossi in a near death condition and Mason getting ready to take a long walk off a short pier? So why was he so conflicted over it? 

He shook his head and took in a deep breath before exiting the bathroom; he hadn't changed before getting into bed, so all he had to do was slip his shoes on and press a light kiss to Ian's lips before leaving the room, wallet and phone in his pocket. 

In the living room, both Mandy and Lip were passed out on the couch, though now they were spooning, and Lip's arms were the only reason she hadn't fallen off the couch. He looked at them fondly before turning off the Fresh Prince reruns that were playing on the TV. He grabbed his keys and spared them one last glance before he walked out the door, locking it behind him. 

***

Mickey walked into the police station with his shoulders slumped, a feat that was not lost on Jeanette as she approached him. "Well, well, well, Milkovich, we meet again," she said, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "You look particularly down... any reason for that?" she asked, a smirk plastered across her mouth.

He rolled his eyes and shrugged her arm off. "I need to talk to Macchio," he said gruffly, and she pursed her lips. 

"Mason Macchio has admitted to trying to kill your superior, if I've heard correctly," she said, an eyebrow raised. "Isn't that an interesting little tidbit? Why would I let you talk to him? No... why  _should_ I let you talk to him?" she asked, now walking backwards as Mickey continued forward.

He shook his head. "Because he's in remand custody, and you and I both know he's gonna be locked up for the rest of his short life," he hissed, stopping in his place. "You know Macchio and I have worked together for years, so show a little decency and let me see him before he's put away for good," he demanded, and Agent Waldorf's face softened a little. She and Mickey had always had a sort of silent understanding, whether either of them addressed it or not, that they'd at least be decent to one another. 

"I shouldn't," she replied, but when she looked around the station and realized that it was completely dead since it was the middle of the night, she chewed the inside of her lip. "Last time he was in here for trying to kill you," she said quietly before adding, "and now he's admitted to shooting your boss. Why?"

Mickey shook his head a little and looked away before replying. "That's what I'm gonna try to figure out," he said quietly, then looked up to meet her eyes. "If you let me see him, that is."

She sighed, and looked up before reaching for her keys. "Ten minutes," she agreed and looked around one more time to make sure no one was watching as she lead him to the back where Mason was being held. "Next time you get to see him is after he's tried and in prison," she said and Mickey pressed his lips together before nodding. As if he'd be alive in prison long enough to warrant a visit. 

"Got it," he nodded. "How's his condition? He wasn't exactly looking well when I saw him earlier. Did he at least get to clean himself up?" he asked as they neared the door, and Agent Waldorf shook her head. 

"He didn't get in too long ago, and he confessed at the sight, so they took him straight from there. He's barely said two words other than, 'I shot him'," she shrugged and looked at Mickey as they approached the holding room, where Mickey risked a glance at Mason through the glass. "I'll be timing you," she said, although they both knew that if their meeting ran long, she wouldn't do anything drastic to stop it. 

Mickey nodded his thanks and waited as she unlocked the door before slipping past her and into the room. Mason sat at the table, hands folded in front of him. His face was pale beneath the bruises and blood. His collar was torn where Rossi must have ripped it, and his hair was utterly disheveled. They had him cuffed to the table, even though he looked as though he were in shock and didn't even have the energy to fight them if he wanted to. The bags beneath his eyes were deep and dark, and Mickey wondered if he'd looked like this earlier, too and he just hadn't noticed because of the context. 

"Hey, Mason," Mickey greeted softly, pulling the chair across from him out just far enough to sit in it. It took him a few seconds to realize that Mickey was even there, and he looked over at him slowly, eyes wide and a little confused. He doubted Mason was fully there in all honesty- after the beating of his life  _and_ thinking he was sobbing on the body of the only father he'd ever known, how could he be?

His eyebrows furrowed a little before a small smile formed on his face. "Mickey," he said quietly, blinking a few times. "What are you doing here?"

"Well... I heard that you... you confessed," he began, swallowing between his words. He felt as though he were talking to a child and he had to be gentle and careful about the words he chose to use. "And you're gonna be put away for... a long time for that," he explained, looking up to meet Mason's wide blue eyes. "And I wanted to fix things before that happened." He didn't say anything about the fact that attempted murder of a Capo would land Mason his own headstone, although the thought floated above them. 

He shrugged a little and used his free hand to move the hair from his eyes. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "I think I need it," he added, swallowing thickly. 

"You need it? What, jail time? Mason, this isn't just jail time, you have to know that," he shook his head, studying the sad form before him. 

Mason nodded and shrugged a bit, eyes fixed on Mickey, although he wasn't focused. It was as though he was looking through Mickey instead of  _at_ him. "I know," he whispered. "But what's the point? Rossi hates me now. He was all I had left in the Life, and I'm not even made," he chuckled mirthlessly, tears in his eyes, which were growing more and more crazed by the second. He'd never seen someone who was normally so heartless look so utterly... broken. "Do you know how hard it is to put your faith in people who don't give you a reason to be faithful? When I was being held before my trial, he didn't visit me once. And when I came home yesterday, I expected the beating. Hell, I welcomed it; it's how he shows that he cares. If he didn't give a fuck he wouldn't have bothered," he said with a shrug, unshed tears still glistening in his eyes. "But he told me that this was the reason I wasn't made- and why I never would be. That I wasn't loyal. He said that... the reason I was nothing but his fucking slave is because I couldn't be trusted with anything. After you, he was all that there was for me," he explained, eyebrows furrowed, and Mickey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And I know you probably hate hearing that, but that's how it fucking is. You knew the whole time how I felt about you, Mickey," he shook his head, looking up to meet Mickey's eyes. He blinked a few times, unable to move a muscle as Mason spoke to him. "And it all started changing because of that fucking..." he closed his eyes and fisted his hands. "Because of fucking Gallagher," he laughed, and Mickey tensed a bit. 

"Mason..."

"He's the reason Rossi started changing, then he was the reason you changed. That fucking kid somehow made both you and Rossi do a one eighty, and I have yet to fucking understand  _how._ What is so different about that little bastard?" he laughed, eyebrows drawn together. "Anyways, whatever the fuckin' reason is, when he started messing around with Ian, you were mostly what distracted me from it all, but then... Ian got to you, too," he shrugged and sighed. "And you were totally different with him than you ever had been with me. Which is fine, I didn't really have any expectations when it came to you or us, but it fucking sucked to see you two together and to see just how fucking whipped he had you. I thought Rossi might find out and go ballistic on you, but instead he just sponsored you and had you made," he chuckled, shaking his head a bit. "You did everything wrong, Mickey, and somehow he still favored you. It's a shitty feeling, and I can't deal with it anymore. I can't deal with seeing you and your little boy toy sneak around behind his back, and I sure as  _fuck_ can't deal with the way Rossi treats me now. I heard him tell you he could barely stand to look at me- tell you that if I fucked up again he wanted you to hit me. Well now you don't have to," he shrugged, running a hand down his face. "Now I basically whacked myself. They'll have Sal or Punchy get me while I'm in the joint, and then it won't matter anymore."

Mickey licked his lips, eyes lowered to where his hands rested in his lap. He didn't really know what to feel; he was guilty. He felt so much remorse for the shattered, pitiful man in front of him, and yet he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. Nothing had really ever gone Mason's way. "I'm sorry, Mason," he finally said after a few tense minutes of silence. 

He let out a watery laugh and nodded a bit, a few tears actually falling down his bruised cheeks now. They mixed with the dried blood from his cuts, and Mickey swallowed as they gave the illusion of crying blood. 

"You better take full fucking advantage of this," he replied to Mickey, licking his lips before looking up to meet his eyes. "You and your fucking boyfriend are in the clear. For now," he added with a shrug. "But you have to know that what you two are doing can't last forever. You've gotta get out," he nodded, brushing his hair back again. "And please, just... take Benny with you," he added, to Mickey's surprise. He'd thought Benny's affection towards Mason was purely one-sided, but perhaps he was wrong. "That poor fucker doesn't belong here. He's too soft, and we both know it," he shook his head. "So wherever you and Gallagher decide to go, take him along. You'll think of something," he looked away again. "You always do."

Mickey looked back down at the table and tapped his fingers on it. He didn't know what to say- Mason had covered basically everything there was to cover, and then some. In fact, he'd surprised Mickey in more ways than one with his confessions, to the point of speechlessness. He'd really come through; Mickey had always felt disdain for Mason because of the decisions the stupid fucker never ceased to make, but it was obvious he had been unhappy with his life and his decisions. 

"You're a good man, Macchio," he chuckled a little. 

Mason scoffed and shook his head. "I'm really not," he shrugged. "And we both know that. That's why nothing is gonna change when they whack me. Everything will keep going. Things will change when you get the fuck out of here, though; the top guy on the block will be gone."

"I'm hardly the top guy on the block," Mickey rolled his eyes. 

"Yes, Mick, you are," he assured. "Tell me any other wise guys around here with a count as high as yours at your age. You're gonna be a fucking legend for years. A gay legend, but still a legend."

He laughed a bit and extended his fist to Mason, who studied it before bumping it with his own, a sigh tumbling past his lips. "See you on the other side, Macchio," he said quietly before standing. 

He laughed a bit, watching Mickey walk to the door. "Yeah, I'll save you a seat in Hell," he chuckled, and Mickey smirked. 

He opened the door and was halfway out of it before he turned back to Mason and blinked a couple times before he found to courage to meet his gaze. "Mason," he said, and the blonde man looked up a moment later. "Thank you."

He hardly waited for Mason to nod before he left after that. He didn't think he could bear seeing him so decrepit and torn down. He walked out of the second door leading back to the lobby, passing Agent Waldorf without acknowledging her presence at all. 

***

By the time he got to the hospital, the streets were completely barren, and he called Benny from outside the doors. 

"Yeah," he answered groggily, obviously tired. 

"I'm downstairs," he replied, swallowing thickly. His meeting with Mason left him shaken to the core, and at a loss. If the one person he thought he knew to a T could turn out to be someone who was just a broken young boy searching for his father's approval and some sort of male authority figure to look up to, did he really know anyone in the Life at all?

Benny hung up without responding, and Mickey waited at the doors to meet him. There were few men in the mob he considered himself acquainted with, but Mason had been one of them. It was a strange feeling to mourn someone who wasn't dead yet, and Mickey wondered if this was how his clients felt. Sure he wasn't Mason's biggest fan, but they'd had their share of good times, and it was hard to see him looking so humane. Humanity was Mickey's weakness. 

"Thanks for coming," Benny said the minute he was out the doors. He pulled Mickey towards him and held him tightly in a hug, which Mickey hesitated to return. He hated being touched by anyone except Ian, but he knew that Benny needed the reassurance, so he patted his back in a way he hoped was comforting until the other man pulled back. "Did you see Mason?" Mickey nodded. "How did it go? Is he alright?"

Mickey shrugged a little and looked down. "I think he's come to terms with it already," he nodded, his voice uncertain. "He did it on purpose. He thinks there's no reason for him to be here anymore."

"Fuck, Mickey," Benny breathed, and he nodded in agreement. "Is this what it's always like? You can't get attached to anyone because they'll die sooner or later?"

Mickey laughed a little. "That's what everything is like, Benny," he shrugged, patting him on the arm. "That's just life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo  
> 0.o  
> there was literally no Mickey/Ian action in this chapter, but it was necessary. everything that happened in this chapter was like 100% necessary for the end, which is NIGH (near lmao)  
> umm. i kind of fucked with my own feelings there. mason was always just a character i threw in to hate, but... man everyone's got their shit and mason had quite a bit. he kind of grew on me, especially in the past couple chapters.  
> comment your thoughts, please, i'm loving them. i feel like weird writing this, like the mood is just super dark and deep. ugh okay, anyways.  
> I LOVE YOU ALL VERY VERY MUCH and i'll be updating soon <3  
> next chapter will be quite long, and there'll be both of our gay children in it.  
> hope you liked this oneeeeee  
> LOVE YOU


	46. Chapter 46

After sitting for nearly four hours without an update, Mickey stood from his seat next to Benny in the waiting room.  Not much had happened expect for Rossi's wife showing up crying. She stayed for around thirty minutes before she returned to her cold, hard self and told Benny to call her when they heard anything, giving Mickey her usual cougar stare before she left. "I should be getting back," he said hesitantly, stretching his arms behind him. 

Benny looked up at him, adjusting his hold on the cup of coffee he'd bought around the two hour mark. "What are you gonna do?" he asked, voice gruff. 

Mickey licked his lips and shrugged a bit. "I'll probably talk to a couple people, see what I  _can_ do," he admitted before scratching the back of his head. Benny nodded and watched as Mickey turned around and slowly started walking away. "By the way, Benny," he said, suddenly remembering something. He looked back at the younger man's wide, hopeful eyes. "Mason wants me to get you out of here," he relayed the message as gracefully as possible. "He thinks you deserve better than what this life is for you," he swallowed before nodding. "And he's right. So... I'm gonna do what I can to get you out," he promised, and Benny's eyes glistened a bit. 

This time when Mickey walked away, he didn't stop until he got to his car. Once he was inside he thought back to his meeting with Mason. He had been right, Mickey and Ian needed to get the fuck out of there while the chaos was still fresh. Once everything settled, they'd have far too much attention on them to successfully devise a plan. 

His first order of business would be calling the only doctor he knew that would be able to help him with such a strange request. Since he was already at the hospital, he pulled out his phone and dialed. 

It took three rings before he heard an energetic, "Hello?" 

"Hey, Elliot, it's Mickey," he replied, chewing on his thumbnail a bit. "Are you at the hospital right now?"

There was a crackling noise on the other end before he gave a muffled, "Yes."

"You got a minute to talk?" he asked, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. He had no idea how Elliot would react to his question, so he put on a confident facade and acted.

"Uh, yeah, are you around? If you stop in we can talk in my office. Everything alright?" he asked, and there were a few shouts in the background that they both ignored. 

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Kind of. Yeah, I'm at the hospital now actually, I'm gonna pull around."

He hung up before Elliot had a chance to reply and drove to the opposite end of the hospital, where he vaguely remembered arriving when he was concussed last time. He paid no attention to the lines while parking, and swaggered into the building confidently, nodding at the familiar brunette behind the front desk. 

"Mr. Milkovich!" she greeted perkily. "Nice to see you again. Hows the cheek?" she asked, and Mickey shrugged, utterly disinterested. He was here for one reason, and didn't care about pleasantries. "How's that boyfriend of yours?" she added, and when he looked over in surprise, she was biting her tongue playfully. 

"Fuck's that supposed to mean?" he asked, crossing his arms. 

She smirked and shrugged, shuffling through a stack of papers on her desk as she feigned disinterest. "Huh, I don't know," she chuckled. "Couldn't be because I got scolded every time I touched you because 'You're in a relationship'," she teased, lowering her voice to mock Mickey. 

He flipped her off, but couldn't help his bashful grin. He opened his mouth to shoot back a snooty comment just as Elliot walked towards him. "Milkovich," he greeted, and Mickey looked up at him. "Nice to see you again. You can follow me to my office," he said before turning around and starting down a hallway. 

Mickey nodded at the girl before following. His office looked like it used to be some sort of consultation room that they'd stuffed a desk into. "So," Mickey began, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. "I need a favor."

Elliot raised an eyebrow curiously as Mickey cut right to the chase. "What kind of favor?"

"The kind that you could have me arrested for asking."

***

An hour and a half later, and Mickey was speeding down the highway to get home, the weight on his shoulders slightly more bearable. It was still heavy- suffocating, really- but his meeting with Elliot had helped to ease at least some of his worries. 

Now all he wanted to do was get back home to Ian. He doubted that his boyfriend would feel much better upon waking up, especially since he was wound so tight when Mickey had left, so he wanted to be there for him as much as possible. He wondered just how long he'd be able to hold up the insomnia he was dealing with before he had to crash, too. 

Now that Elliot had helped him secure two bodies, he had to worry about the autopsies. If everything went according to plan, his car would start on fire and burn the bodies beyond recognition, but that didn't change dental records. He would need an inside connection at the police station, or- ideally- a Fed on his side. 

Agent Waldorf was always an option, but Mickey sincerely doubted that she would be so loose as to try and pull off an operation as risky as helping Mickey fake his own death. He ran through the list of officers and connections he had before he came across one that he dreaded. There was someone who already knew more about Mickey than he'd prefer that seemed to have no problem violating the law for his own personal benefit. 

He wasn't exactly a friend of  _Mickey's,_ but... he'd do. 

He parked quickly and narrowly avoided a confrontation with McKayla before striding into the apartment. Much to his disapproval it was unlocked, and he was ready to kick some ass as he entered. 

"Where the  _fuck_ have you been?" Ian burst the second he laid his eyes upon Mickey.

He found himself irrationally irritated with Ian for having such a complex when it came to Mickey being out. "Taking care of some shit," he answered vaguely. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you really gonna keep trying to give me that bullshit? 'Don't worry about it' isn't gonna fucking work anymore, Mick," he shot back immediately, crossing his arms. He'd changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tight grey long sleeved shirt. Mandy and Lip sat on the couch, watching the ordeal with wide, curious eyes. 

Mickey scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. "Really? Because I'm pretty sure that if you'd listened to me telling you not to worry about it before, we wouldn't be in this position. But no, you just  _had_ to be involved, then Rossi found you and look where the fuck we are now! Rossi is in the fucking ICU, Mason is about to be  _whacked_ and you and I have to figure out some way not to fucking die in the middle of it all! So yes, I'm gonna keep giving you that bullshit, because-"

"Oh, fuck  _off,_ Mickey. This was inevitable, you said it yourself," he fought back, walking towards Mickey. "Whether I would've run into Rossi at the hospital or not doesn't matter, because he would've found me one fucking way or another. I know you're stressed, trust me I'm right there with you, but you don't need to take it out on me."

Mickey rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "We need to fucking talk about something," he said, still wound tight, but settling since Ian was right. He wasn't mad at his boyfriend, he was mad at the world. He was mad at Rossi and at Damion and at the entire fucking Outfit. 

Ian sighed and he could tell he was trying just as hard to keep from getting angry as Mickey was. He shot a glance at Mandy and Lip, who acted like they hadn't been paying attention before he turned around and started walking to the bedroom, Mickey following a step behind. In the bedroom, Mickey closed the door, and when he turned around, he was being kissed. 

He blinked in surprise, before sighing and kissing back. He raised a hand to hold Ian's jaw, and Ian had his hands flat on Mickey's back, pressing their bodies together. As usual, he felt himself melt into Ian, his touch never failing to ease whatever was troubling Mickey. He pulled away a moment later before returning to press one more kiss onto Mickey's mouth. 

When he opened his eyes to look up at Ian, he took a deep breath. If everything was going to work out, he'd have to iron out all the details with Ian before they could do anything. The whole reason he was even doing this was to keep Ian safe, although to be fair, he wouldn't be in this situation if that hadn't been his intent the whole time. 

"I love you," Ian reminded him, untucking Mickey's shirt from his pants.

He patted the side of Ian's face and looked down. "Yeah, Gallagher, I love you, too."

He started stepping away, but Ian tugged him back by the belt, unbuckling it as he did so. "Wait," he said softly, and Mickey furrowed his eyebrows. 

"Wha- right now?" he asked, and Ian shrugged. "Are you fuckin' high or something?"

He rolled his eyes and continued undressing Mickey, who didn't make a move to stop him. "Why not?" he asked, and upon looking down, he saw that Ian's hands were shaking while he unbuttoned Mickey's shirt. 

He licked his lips and sighed, grabbing Ian's hands to stop them. "Come on, Ian," he said softly, looking up to meet his eyes. He paused when their gazes met and pulled back. He walked away and Mickey pressed his lips together, looking up and trying to collect himself before he even attempted to talk to Ian. 

"What the fuck are we gonna do, Mickey?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. He chewed the inside of his cheek and walked over, sitting next to Ian and resting his hand on his thigh comfortingly. 

He nudged him with his shoulder until he looked over. "I've kind of been working on something," he admitted, licking his lips. Ian looked over curiously and he took a breath before answering. "It's kind of risky, but... I'm pretty sure that at this point it's our only option," he shrugged and Ian raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

"And that is...?"

"Well, there's not going to be any sort of way for us to get safely out of the mob... together," he said slowly, trying to choose his words carefully. He realized only a moment later that he'd definitely chosen the wrong words, because Ian tensed and looked at Mickey as though he'd grown a second head. 

"What the fuck does that mean!?" he asked and immediately Mickey tried to placate him, reaching over and grabbing his hand. 

"No," he said immediately, gesturing with his other hand. "Fuck, that was a bad way to word that."

"Um, yeah, maybe just a fucking little," he replied, pulling his hand away and shoving Mickey gently. "Fuck you."

He rolled his eyes and shifted back on the bed to get a better look at Ian. "Okay, let me start over. We can't  _leave_ together if we're gonna be safe, so that's not what we're gonna do," he said, and Ian still wore a confused expression. "'I enter alive and may only leave dead'," he repeated the oath from his induction as he watched Ian's expression morph into an even deeper confusion. "We're only getting out of here dead, Gallagher," Mickey added, shaking his head. 

"So we're gonna... kill ourselves?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed as he looked over at Mickey, who shrugged. 

"We're gonna get in a car crash," he corrected, running a hand through his hair. "The car is gonna go up in flames. But by the time that happens you and I will be halfway to fuckin'... Mexico or some shit," he explained, and Ian's head snapped to the side as he finally understood. 

"We're gonna fake our deaths?" he asked, and Mickey lifted his hand as if to say 'That's the only way'. "Fuck," he breathed. 

Mickey reached out for his hand again, and this time Ian let him take it, and he pulled him further onto the bed so they were sitting across from one another. "I know that it's gonna be hard, okay? Leaving everyone and... crossing the border and starting over, but it's our only fuckin' option at this point," he said, shifting closer. "We need to get out of this, Ian. I need... I need you out of this," he corrected, reaching up to run his fingers through Ian's hair. "And the only way to do that and stay together is to leave."

Ian swallowed visibly and leaned into Mickey's touch, which he took as a good sign. "How are we gonna get across the border if we're supposed to be dead?" he asked, and Mickey could have cried with relief. He'd expected an argument, or some sort of outburst, but he should've known Ian would be fully on board. After yesterday, Ian had to know that they were done for if they stuck around Chicago. 

"That's where your little friend comes in," he replied delicately, and Ian's eyebrows furrowed. "Remember when Nathan got you my police records?" he asked, and his boyfriend tensed. "Oh, relax, I'm over it. Anyways, since he's so lenient with which laws he decides to obey, I figured, he and his Fed brother could... make sure our death certificates and autopsies go through," he admitted, looking up at Ian. 

His lips parted a bit as he thought about it, and Mickey could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "Wow, you must really be on this idea if you want to ask Nate for help," he chuckled and Mickey shoved at his shoulder. 

"Shut the fuck up and think about it, dipshit. Would he help us?" he asked, and Ian chewed on his lip. 

"Well, I don't see why he  _wouldn't._ I mean, he knows enough about you and cares enough about me to know that it's basically our only option at this point," he said, looking down at Mickey's hand and tracing his fingers over the tattoos. 

Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll bet he cares a whole lot about you," he shot back jealously and Ian grinned. 

"Wouldn't you prefer that I use my charm and good looks to our advantage, Mickey?" he joked, and Mickey looked up at him unamused. "Without them, we wouldn't have anyone to help us illegally forge government documents."

He looked away, second thinking his decision to talk to Nathan. "You know what, maybe we can do without the bastard-"

"Oh, Mickey, stop," he groaned in annoyance, grabbing his loose tie and yanking him closer by the neck. "I'll take care of it," he said quietly once they were face to face. Mickey had one hand pressed against Ian's chest, and the other on the bed behind him to keep himself stable. 

Mickey raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? You're gonna take care of him doing us a favor? How do you plan on doing that?" he asked, glancing down at Ian's lips and pressing forward a bit until he was practically sitting in Ian's lap. 

"Well," he began, looking up as he trailed Mickey's tie through his fingers. "First, I figured I'd ask politely, then when he says no, obviously I'll suck his di-"

Mickey cut him off with his lips, and pushed him down until he was flat on the bed and continued to kiss him, straddling him as he did so. He parted his lips and met Ian's tongue with his own, his breath catching a little. It felt like it had been years since he was able to really kiss Ian, and with everything going on, he needed it as much as he needed to breathe. Ian seemed to agree because he kissed back with fervor and reached up to cradle Mickey's face in his hands. 

By the time he pulled back, it was more to let both of them up for air than anything else. "You will suck no one's dick," he corrected, and Ian raised an eyebrow before he added, "except for mine."

Ian laughed and shoved him off before sitting back up. "Fine, but I doubt Nathan will need much persuading. He's a pretty chill guy, he'll do what he can to help," he said with a shrug. Mickey eyed him suspiciously as he added. "That, and I'm pretty sure he's been in love with me for the past, like, three years."

Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes before crossing his arms. "Well, whatever," he finally decided, knowing that Ian was just trying to get him riled up again. "Just... take care of it so we can go on our little trip," he said, tugging his shirt the rest of the way off and flopping down onto the bed. 

"Is that what we're gonna call it?" Ian asked, laying down face to face with him before picking up Mickey's arm and putting it around himself. 

He chuckled and tightened his hold. "Would you prefer we call it something else?" he asked pointedly. 

"How about... 'Mickey and Ian's Mexican Survival Quest'," he suggested with a cheeky grin and Mickey grimaced. "Yeah, I like the sound of that."

"Remind me again why I keep you around?" he asked, his face still pained from hearing Ian's gag-worthy title. 

He smiled and bit his lip before leaning forward and kissing Mickey. "Because you loooove me," he answered and wiggled forward until their bodies were completely pressed flush together. 

He rolled his eyes endearingly and sighed. "Unfortunately, that would be true," he replied, and Ian laughed before kissing him again. 

***

Nathan was skeptical about the sincerity of Mickey's request, to say the least. 

"And you want...  _my_ help with that?" he asked, shifting on his couch. He was still pretty banged up from the car accident, so he had his casted leg propped up on the table in front of him and Mickey licked his lips, tensing a bit. 

Just when he opened his mouth to snap on the guy, Ian put his hand on Mickey's knee and cut him off. "Yes," he answered politely. "Nate, I know it's a lot to ask you to forge death certificates, but you know the severity of our situation. Fuck, man, you got hit by a  _car_ because of it," he explained, running his free hand through his hair. Mickey wanted to threaten the guy to do it, and Ian shot that idea down right away, but now his attitude just made the desire way stronger. The only thing keeping him in place was Ian's hand on his leg. 

Nate took a deep breath in and puckered his lips a bit. "Yeah, that's true," he sighed, then cleared his throat. "But I'm gonna have to tell Jessie about it," he added. "Isn't that gonna be a problem?"

"Jessie?" Mickey asked immediately, scooting forward on his cushion. "Who is that? Your Fed brother?"

Ian moved his hand up Mickey's thigh and squeezed a bit to calm him before returning his gaze to Nathan. "Look, we get that you're gonna have to tell him. But I've met Jessie, and he's not exactly the most professional guy when it comes to his job," he said, giving Nathan a look. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" he shot back defensively.

Ian scoffed and grinned, "Nate, last time I saw him he gave me details on a federal case in exchange for a lap dance, then he let me shoot his gun and wear his little FBI aviators. His title obviously isn't very important to him-"

"Wait, wait, wait, what?" Mickey asked, turning to Ian. "You gave this guy a lap dance? What, is your whole fuckin' family queer?" 

Nathan lifted a hand in question. "I'm straight," he countered and both Mickey and Ian furrowed their eyebrows. 

"You're not straight," Ian said. "I've literally seen a guy give you a hand job."

Nate shrugged a bit and replied, "Look, I'm not proud of it, but a hand is a hand and twenty dollars is twenty dollars, you know?"

Mickey smirked a bit and scooted forward on his chair. "I think I like this guy. So can you help us out?"

Nate pursed his lips and eyed Mickey intensely. "What's in it for me?" he asked, and Ian scoffed a little. 

"I won't fuckin' run you over again, how 'bout that?" Mickey asked, starting to get worked up. 

Ian smacked his chest gently. "What do you want?" he asked, folding his hands. 

He looked Ian up and down and smirked. "How would you feel about doing a porno?" he asked, and Mickey stood up immediately, ready to bust his other kneecap. Ian grabbed his arm, still sitting down and watching unamused as Nate broke out into a fit of laughter. "Oh my god! The fucking- the fucking look on your face," he said to Mickey, doubling over and cackling. "Fuck, that was good," he breathed, wiping his eyes. 

Realizing that he'd only said it to get a rise out of Mickey, he let Ian tug him back down into a sitting position and adjusted his jaw. "Know what, I'm gettin' real close to running you over either away, jackass," Mickey threatened, and Nate rolled his eyes. 

"Nate," Ian sighed, running a hand down his face. Mickey's chest was burning with anger, but he controlled himself for the sake of his stressed boyfriend, though he was wound tighter than a string. "What do you want?"

He thought about it for a moment, narrowing his eyes in concentration. "Huh," he muttered, tapping his fingers on his thigh. "Five grand?"

"That's it?" Mickey asked just as Ian burst, "Dollars!?"

They looked at each other in surprise, and Ian raised an exasperated eyebrow. "'That's it'?" he repeated to Mickey. "As if that isn't a crazy high amount of money!?"

Mickey licked his lips and tried to remember that Ian wasn't used to dealing with people who only cared about money. It was their living, and in comparison to the characters he'd had to deal with, and the obscene prices they'd tried to demand, Nathan was asking for pocket change. 

"Ian, honey, why don't you let the grown ups handle this?" Mickey said, patting Ian's thigh fondly before turning back to Nathan. "How do you want it? Cash?"

Nathan shrugged. "Cash would be ideal. But I'll take PayPal or some shit if need be," he answered and Mickey nodded. 

"Cash it is. When can you have them done by?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ho. ly. shit. we. are. so. close. to. the. end.   
> AHHHHHH  
> WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINK?  
> IT'S KIND OF TYING TOGETHER RIGHT!???!!?!?!?!?!  
> JUST YOU FUCKING WAIT OMFG  
> SORRY TO DISAPPOINT BTW LIKE I FEEL LIKE I'M KIND OF LETTING YOU DOWN BECAUSE YOUR THEORIES IN THE COMMENTS ARE ALL EXCITING AND SO FAR THE ENDING IS LIKE SEEMING BORING!? IDK  
> COMMENT PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAASSSSSSEEEEEE   
> NEW CHAPTER COMING V SOON (also i said this chapter would be v long, and it was like moderately long, but the next one will probably be v long, don't quote me on that, though. okay, i love you i hope you're not disappointed)  
> LOVE YOU MY GLORIOUS, DIVINE, ETHEREAL TEACUP PIGS <3 <3 <3


	47. Chapter 47

On the drive home from Nathan's house, Mickey couldn't help but glance over at Ian nervously every couple of seconds until he finally snapped. 

"What the  _fuck_ are you looking at?" 

Mickey raised his eyebrows and scoffed. "Not fuckin' much," he answered, adjusting his tense, white-knuckled grip on the wheel. 

Ian rolled his eyes and reached for Mickey's hand, pulling it off the wheel and winding their fingers together. His shoulders relaxed just barely as his boyfriend traced his tattoos lightly with the tips of fingers. "Are we actually doing this, Mick?" he asked quietly, his voice breaking a little. 

Mickey chewed the inside of his lip and looked over at Ian, finding his eyes trained on their hands. "Look, Ian, I get it if it's too much for you, you know? You haven't been in the Life that long, so running isn't something that you're used to," he swallowed and looked back to the road. "And, really..." he shrugged a little. "You wouldn't be in this position if it wasn't for me. So if you don't  _want_ to do this, you don't  _have_ to," he said timidly. 

Ian's fingers paused, and when he looked over, Mickey was stunned by the look on his face. It was a mix of confusion and anger. "Why the fuck do you do this?" he asked, shaking his head. Mickey raised an eyebrow. "All this fucking 'it's my fault' bullshit, just give it a damn rest, okay, Mick? If I didn't think leaving with you was what I wanted to do then I wouldn't do it," he explained, and Mickey took the fact that they were still holding hands as a good sign. "So just stop it with the 'you don't have to come if you don't want to' garbage, because I don't want to. I don't wanna fucking leave you, okay?" And just as Mickey began to feel reassured Ian wrenched his hand away and crossed his arms. "I love you, you fucking piece of shit," he grumbled before turning away and looking out the window with a pout. 

Mickey rolled his eyes and sighed, returning his hand to the wheel before changing his mind and placing it on Ian's thigh. Fuck him if he didn't wanna hold Mickey's hand, he was still gonna hold Ian. 

"Whatever," he muttered back, turning into the apartment parking lot. "We're bringing Benny with us, by the way," he added. 

Ian turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. "What? I thought this was gonna be like an 'our love is forbidden so we have to run away' type thing," he replied and Mickey laughed, pulling into a parking space. 

"We're not fucking eloping, Gallagher," he grinned, before considering. "I mean... that is kind of what it is, but with Benny. I talked with Mason and we agree that he's too good to be here. He doesn't have it in him and he needs to get out when we do, otherwise they'll threaten him into staying."

Ian furrowed his eyebrows. "When did you talk to Mason?" he asked, looking down at Mickey's hand on his thigh. 

"Oh, I went to talk to him while you were passed out," he explained, realizing that he hadn't actually told Ian where he'd been. "Then I went to the hospital, but Rossi was still in intensive care."

Ian didn't say anything at first, simply swallowing and looking out the windshield at the cars. "What's going on, Mick?" he asked, and Mickey ran his thumb over Ian's thigh soothingly. 

"Mason, um... he told them that he's the one who shot Rossi," he said and Ian's head snapped over in surprise. "Yeah, uh, he said he couldn't stand the way Rossi looks at him now," he shrugged a bit and blinked a couple times. "You know, he's been nothing but loyal to that bastard and now he's gonna get hit because of him," he chewed the inside of his cheek before sighing deeply. "But he's come to terms with it already, you know, that's the Life. He told me to make sure that you and I take advantage of this and leave while it's still fresh," he finished, searching Ian's face. 

His features were cloaked in confusion and worry. "He's getting hit because of  _me,"_ he corrected, and Mickey's eyebrows furrowed. "This isn't Rossi's fault, it's  _mine._ If I hadn't fucking shot him, Mason wouldn't have had to admit to anything he didn't do, and they'd both still be fine," he said, his words jumbling together as he started to panic. Mickey unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face Ian, unbuckling his as well. "Mickey, this is all me, I've essentially fucking killed  _two_ people," he added, his voice hoarse. 

Mickey reached up and cupped his face, shaking his head. "No, Ian, don't fucking go down that road. You did what you had to do, you know that," he assured, stroking Ian's cheek with his thumbs. "Look at me," he urged, and he finally looked up to meet Mickey's eyes, his own green ones glossy and scared. "If you wouldn't have shot him, you  _know_ what he would've done," Mickey said, unable to even form the real words. He could barely even think them. "And if he would have, we both know he wouldn't have lived to see another fucking day anyways," he said, and Ian chuckled a little. "And if I'd have killed him, they would have found out and  _I_ would be whacked," he said, and Ian reached over to touch Mickey's thigh. "Then Rossi and I would both be dead, you, Mandy, and Benny would all be in danger and who knows what the fuck Mason would do," he said, searching Ian's eyes. "So don't think about that. None of this is your fault, do you understand? This is all Rossi, Damion and Mason; he didn't have to admit to anything, and he didn't have to try to hit me with his fucking car," he said with a little laugh. "You haven't done anything wrong."

Ian swallowed and looked down before licking his lips and moving his hand up to Mickey's hip. "Did they say if Rossi is gonna be alright?" he asked, and Mickey thought back to the hospital before he shook his head. 

"Son of a bitch wasn't even out of the ICU before I left and Benny hasn't called with an update," he shrugged. 

Ian nodded and tugged Mickey forward, urging him over the center console. He really just wanted to go inside, but if Ian wanted to cuddle in the cramped car, he'd do it. "What's Benny's excuse for leaving gonna be?" Ian asked, watching as Mickey climbed over it and onto Ian's lap, settling with a leg on either side of his hips.

"I've been trying to figure that out, but I'm not positive," he admitted, resting his hands on Ian's chest gently and feeling his rapid heartbeat. He had no idea what more to say that could calm his boyfriend down. "Everyone knows how close Mason and Benny were," he said and shrugged a little. "And they all know how fresh Benny is, so maybe just using Mason getting whacked as an excuse would work. If he just left a note or some shit."

Ian nodded and ran his fingers up Mickey's thighs distractedly. "I just don't want anything to go wrong. What about the Rub and Tug? Mickey you and Svet  _just_ opened it," he said, eyebrows furrowed. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged at the roots, leaning his head back. 

"I know," he sighed, thinking it over. "I've been trying to figure out what to do with that. From what I've seen... I mean..." he groaned and ran a hand down his face. As much as he hated to admit it, Caleb seemed to know what he was doing when it came to management, and just as Ian had said such a long time ago, he took care of his girls- from what Mickey had witnessed in just a short week or so. Svet worked well as a manager and a "masseuse", but he would prefer that the company he  _owned_ had a Milkovich touch. "Fuck," he finally said, laughing a little as he realized what he would have to do. 

Ian's eyebrows furrowed and he squeezed Mickey's leg. "What? What are you thinking about?" he asked, concern obvious in his tone. 

"Just..." he chewed the inside of his lip. "I gotta talk to Mandy. Of course that bitch is gonna get exactly what she wants," he chuckled, running his fingers up Ian's throat and over the infuriating bruises that Rossi had left on his boyfriend. He sneered a little- that neck belonged to Mickey, and he was the only one who could mark it. 

"You're gonna let her do it?" he asked, eyebrows raised as he continued looking at Mickey. 

He shrugged, eyes still trained on the angry bruises. "I know she'll be able to. She helped me enough with it last time, and she's been riding my ass about being a manager anyways," he sighed and shrugged a bit. "Might as well make her GM, then let her handle finances and shit. She's always been better at math than me and Svet anyways," he sighed. "Fuck, of course she's gonna do it. Then she can quit that fucking shit hole strip club gig," he added. It seemed like a good sign that things seemed to be coming together so fluidly. 

Instinctively, Mickey dipped his head and kissed Ian's throat gently. He ran his lips over the dark marks littering the pale flesh and savored the gasp that came from Ian's mouth. 

"You take such good fucking care of everyone," Ian commented offhandedly. And he was right, Mickey did everything in his power to make sure that the few people he actually gave a shit about were well provided for and safe. "I fucking love you," he moaned as Mickey ran his tongue over Ian's skin.

He ran his fingers up Mickey's thighs and up his back. As much as he usually wanted to bite down on Ian's skin, Mickey really yearned to make the spots all disappear, so he kissed a trail up Ian's cheek and to his lips, where he pressed his mouth softly against Ian's.

Ian kissed back without a moment's hesitation, leaving one hand on Mickey's back and using the other to cradle his jaw. Mickey kept his fingers splayed across Ian's chest before trailing them down to the hem of his shirt and slipping them under to feel the hot, taut skin against his cold hands. Ian shuddered but parted his lips, shoving his tongue into Mickey's mouth desperately. He returned the heated kiss and shivered at the feel of Ian's muscles beneath his fingers. There were times when they were just hanging out that Mickey forgot how fucking  _ripped_ his boyfriend was, then when his hands roamed over Ian's body, he couldn't help but melt into him. He moaned a little at the thought and pulled back briefly to tug Ian's shirt over his head. 

Immediately, he threw it in the back seat, pressing himself forward into Ian's chest and holding his jaw again. Ian lowered his hands to Mickey's hips and kissed him feverishly, his movements rushed and anxious. He rounded his hands to Mickey's belt and started unbuckling it before pulling it from its loops in one fluid movement and tossing it away haphazardly. In the midst of their panicked kisses, he managed to tug Mickey even closer by the waist band of his jeans before unbuttoning them. Given their position, it took a little extra effort to rid Mickey of his pants, but somehow they managed, leaving him in his boxers. He worked at Ian's pants next, which were far easier to remove and slide off of him. 

Mickey pulled away for a second, breaths coming out in short, hot pants as he turned and rifled through the glove compartment for condoms and lube. He looked up to see if there was anyone around the car that could see them- not that he really would have cared if there were- and found the windows fogged up. He chuckled a little before grabbing what he needed and looking back to Ian, who was in the midst of reclining his seat. 

He yanked Mickey forward roughly by the shirt collar, and he nearly choked to catch his breath, but planted his lips on Ian's anyways. He set the lube and condoms on the drivers seat and made his way up Ian's body as they kissed, grinding into him a bit. Ian bit at his lip and moaned breathily, hands fisting Mickey's hair harshly. After a few moments, he reached down and kneaded Mickey's ass with one hand before putting the other on his back. In one swift movement, he flipped them so Mickey was on his back, and Ian was settled comfortably between his legs. 

Mickey grunted a little in surprise, but the noise was buried in Ian's mouth. He kissed one last time before pulling away briefly, and a second later, two of his fingers were in Mickey's mouth. He locked eyes with Ian's lustful ones as he sucked on his fingers and bit down on them gently. After swallowing and licking his lips, he pulled them from Mickey's mouth and replaced them with his lips and tongue. Ian's fingers were pressing into him a second later, and he arched off the car seat almost immediately, gripping Ian tightly and moaning into his mouth. 

His fingers pressed against Mickey's prostate and he tilted his hips forward before reaching down and into Ian's briefs to start pumping his hand over his cock. Ian remained composed and kept a steady pace on their mouths and his fingers within Mickey. As usual, though, Mickey started to come undone beneath him, and he was unable to even think about keeping a pace on Ian's dick, his movements stuttered every few moments until Ian pulled his fingers out and harshly pulled Mickey's boxers off of him. 

The past few times they'd had sex, Mickey had sort of been leading things, and he hadn't realized just how much he melted under Ian's control. He knew the last couple times had been for Ian's sake, and while they'd had a  _great_ fucking time, there was no denying that their strongest suits included a dominant Ian. 

Ian shed himself of the rest of his clothing and ripped open Mickey's button up to reveal his hard chest as he reached for the condoms. Mickey kept a hand fisted in Ian's hair to keep him from pulling away from his mouth, and brought the other around Ian's back and up to grip his shoulder, clutching him tightly. 

He got himself lubed up in record time and rounded an arm under Mickey's lower back to support him as he pushed into Mickey slowly. Their mouths froze and Ian pulled away from their kiss slowly before he started to move his hips slowly. Mickey's breath caught and he watched with intrigued, hungry eyes as Ian's eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and pleasure began wracking down his spine. He bit his lip and arched off the seat to press their chests together, meeting Ian's thrusts with his hips. 

The burn of Ian inside him was a beautiful, familiar sensation that was far too delayed. They hadn't fucked for a few days, but it felt like months, and Mickey felt as though he were being suffocated with pent up feelings and desire. Ian reached down and started pumping a hand over Mickey's dick before kissing him open-mouthed right away. He moaned and kissed back, his eyes undoubtedly rolling back in his head. Ian pounded his prostate, and although he wasn't being as rough as he had been in the past, it was hard enough that Mickey had a hard time keeping up as he raked his hand down Ian's back.

The way Ian made him feel never ceased to amaze Mickey. His chest tightened and his whole body was on fire with passion and pleasure as he kissed his boyfriend. He'd never been as passionate about something as he was Ian, and he was glad for that- it just proved how different Ian was to him. It only took a few minutes to realize that neither of them was going to last very long, because they were both a couple of moaning, panting messes unable to even continue kissing they had been so deprived. 

"Fuck," Ian breathed just as he came, still pounding into Mickey and jerking him off until he came a few seconds later.

They breathed heavily for a few breathtaking seconds and just looked at one another before jumping to kiss again, unable to keep away for too long. Still, they found that they had to breath after a few moments, and Ian used it as an opportunity to grab his boxers and wipe their stomachs off, then pull out and toss his condom into the little garbage Mickey kept in the backseat. When he looked back down, Mickey was licking his lips and looking up at Ian, reaching up to trace his lips gently with the tips of his fingers. Ian grabbed his hand and kissed his "FUCK" knuckles one by one while maintaining eye contact, causing a flustered Mickey to look away and blush a little. Ian smiled wide at his boyfriend and nuzzled his neck before pressing a gentle kiss to it. 

When he pulled back this time, he sighed and leaned forward to kiss Mickey quickly before he sat up and started getting dressed again, leaving his boyfriend to catch his breath, since he always took about twice as long as Ian when it came to anything related to their relationship. 

By the time Ian was already dressed and sitting in the driver's seat, eyes trained on Mickey, he was finally able to sit up and look around for his clothes. He slipped into his boxers and pulled his jeans on, looking down at his ripped shirt before looking at Ian to scold him. He stopped short when he saw the smitten look on the ginger's face though, and narrowed his eyes. 

"The fuck are you lookin' at, Gallagher?" he asked, eyebrows raised, and Ian's smile grew wider at Mickey's little outburst. He didn't say anything in response, though, so Mickey pressed his lips together and tilted his head to the side. 

"You," he said finally, his elbow resting on the armrest and his chin in his hand. 

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that eye-opening answer, shithead," he replied fondly and Ian licked his lips. "Care to elaborate?"

He reached out across the seats and ran his hand through Mickey's likely disheveled hair, smiling. "You're adorable," he sighed, letting his fingers trail down Mickey's cheek. 

He batted Ian's hand away and started leaving the car, trying to act unaffected, but  _fuck._ It was insane just how much he fell harder and harder for Ian every damn day. 

Ian skipped after him once he got out of the car, and tossed Mickey his car keys. He caught them and shoved the keys in his pocket, glancing at Ian as they walked into the building. The ginger winked at him, and he looked away again, feeling the heat spread across his face. "Mick," Ian said, grabbing Mickey by the waist and pulling him close so they were pressed flushed. Mickey licked his lips and looked up at Ian, who was smirking a little as he glanced between Mickey's lips and his eyes. "You know, if we're gonna be running off to fucking Mexico together, you're gonna have to get used to it," he said quietly, his nose brushing Mickey's a little. 

 _"Or,"_ Mickey countered, "or, you could not say shit like that and we can avoid the whole thing altogether, yeah?" he asked, nodding once before reaching up and patting Ian on the cheek. 

He should have expected the sly grin and shaking of Ian's head, because right after them came a playful kiss on Mickey's mouth. Since he had yet to reject a kiss from Ian, he obviously kissed back and let his hand return to Ian's cheek, cupping his face gently. Ian's little comment just made him far more excited to get the fuck out of Chicago and away together, so he kissed a little more intensely than what he assumed Ian was going for, but the latter didn't protest in the slightest. 

By the time Mickey finally let Ian pull away, their roles had become somewhat reversed, with the former holding Ian firmly in place while he kissed him. He licked his lips and looked down at Ian's swollen ones, smirking at Mickey before he looked back up at his eyes. "I love you," he said, pulling away completely and turning around to walk down the hall to the apartment. "Like a lot," he added, so quietly that he doubted Ian even heard it. 

When they unlocked the door to the apartment, Mickey made sure to knock so they didn't have a repeat of Lip's last traumatizing visit. After a terse, "Yeah, come in!" he whipped the door open, and Mandy straightened immediately. 

"Did you two just fuck?" she asked, and Mickey's mouth opened a little as he glanced back at Ian. 

Ian simply shrugged and he looked at his sister. "How the fuck do you always... you know what, I should just stop questioning it," he said with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. 

"In the car?" she asked, an eyebrow raised. 

Mickey shrugged a bit and shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it onto the kitchen island before returning to the living room, where Mandy was on Lip's lap, wearing only his shirt and her underwear, and him only wearing boxers. He looked to see a bowl on the table, looking so nice and smokeable. He flopped onto the couch next to them and grabbed it, raising the glass to his lips and lighting it without a second thought. Ian sat next to him a moment later, pressed into his side immediately. 

"Yeah in the fuckin' car," he said around the smoke before blowing the rest out of his nose. He looked to Ian and handed it over, licking his lips as he watched the ginger put his mouth around it. 

Mandy chuckled a little and he looked over with an eyebrow raised at his sister. "Well, good thing you got that out of your system since your precious baby is gonna be up in flames soon," she said with a sly grin. 

"What?" Mickey burst immediately, turning his body to face the couple. "How the fuck do you know that?"

She snorted. "Mickey, you and I fucking discussed this already," she reminded him. "In fact, I'm the one who came up with the plan, dipshit. That, and Elliot called me to see where you were. Should've known you were in the car fucking."

Lip laughed a little and ran his hand fondly up and down her leg. "The fuck did he want?" Mickey asked, taking another hit off the pipe. 

"He wanted to let you know that he has what you need," she shrugged, shifting a little to cuddle deeper into Lip's side. "And he said that since the make on your car is so recent, there's a program that basically lets you drive it like a fucking remote control car," she snorted and Lip laughed, too. 

Mickey ran a hand down his face and blinked a few times. "Holy shit," he breathed, shaking his head a little. "Did he say if it was gonna cost us anything?"

"See that was my question," she replied right away, sitting up a little straighter. "Why is this random, sexy fucking doctor-" she ignored both Lip and Ian as they straightened and shot her equally jealous looks. "-just giving you top notch service under the table  _and_ now giving you two random dead bodies for free? It doesn't make sense, especially since like, you're not exactly the most fucking safe person to help out- sorry, Mick, but you're bad news."

He shrugged in assent and nodded. "Well what did he say? Do I owe him or some shit? The dude taking care of our paperwork is charging me five grand in cash," he rolled his eyes. Sure, he'd been expecting a heftier request from Nathan, but he was still irritated by the guy either way. 

She licked her lips before clearing her throat. "Apparently, his brother had been a part of the Outfit, and he saw just how fucked up it got. His brother had a kid eventually and he grew up in the Life, too. He said that ever since he saw what that kid had to go through from such a young age, he wanted to help any people who were still young enough to have a life if they make it out and for some reason... he thought you seemed like a worthy candidate," she said with a flabbergasted expression. "So, as much as I thought he was gonna be some fuckin' sleazebag who just wanted cash, I guess he's... genuine. It doesn't hurt that you have an in with that nephew of his," she added cryptically, and Mickey's eyebrows furrowed. 

"What? Who's his nephew?" 

She smirked a little and looked up at her brother. "Benny."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMMMM QUESTIONS ARE BEING ANSWERED  
> "MY DEAR AUTHOR HAVE YOU BEEN PLANNING THIS SINCE THE BEGINNING"  
> FUCKING BASICALLY AND I'M REALLY SCARED THAT YOU'RE NOT GONNA LIKE IT, OR THAT YOU'RE ALREADY STARTING TO BE DISAPPOINTED.   
> IDK I'M REALLY NERVOUS, YOU'VE ALL BEEN SO AMAZING AND THERE'S ONLY A COUPLE CHAPTERS LEFT TO WRAP IT UP AND I DON'T WANT YOU TO HATE ME OR THEM.....  
> ANYWAYS I LOVE YOU MY GOLDEN, MONUMENTAL WATER DRAGONS <3 <3 <3  
> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEEAAASSSSEEEEE COMMENT!!!!! <3 <3


	48. Chapter 48

Mickey sat dumbfounded for a solid three minutes before Ian smacked him on the shoulder and he returned to reality. "Elliot is  _Benny's_ uncle?" he asked for confirmation and Mandy rolled her eyes. 

"As I've repeated like twelve times now,  _yes,_ Elliot is Benny's uncle," she said exasperatedly, and Mickey ran a hand through his hair, agitated. 

"How have neither of them said anything about it to me before?" he demanded, thinking back to all his conversations with both of them. 

She shrugged. "I don't fucking know, Mickey, I guess he didn't really want you to think he was planning on trying to get Benny out of it. And I think it's been years since they've spoken," she relayed the information uncertainly and Mickey narrowed his eyes a bit. 

"I was with Benny and Elliot at the same time once and neither of them said anything," he recalled, thinking back to that strange day at the police station when the two had gone to visit Mason for the first time. They'd barely even acknowledged one another. 

She scoffed and looked at Lip before answering, "Yeah, Mick, well not everyone has a great relationship with their family. Plus maybe Benny didn't even recognize Elliot. Or the other way around. I don't fucking know! It doesn't matter anyways. Either way, he's getting you three the fuck out of here and you have to appreciate that."

"Mandy," he sighed, burying his head in his hands. "We can't go and just leave you here without any warning," he concluded, looking up at her warily. 

She and Lip exchanged a knowing look and he raised an eyebrow. "Mickey, do you really think we aren't even a little perceptive? Have you not noticed Lip's things being around the house more and more lately? He's gonna move in," she said with a shrug and Mickey's eyes grew wide. "As if I didn't know exactly how this shit with your gay asses was gonna pan out! I had to start making plans for when you two idiots decided to come to your fucking senses."

Lip snickered and buried his face in Mandy's hair to stifle his laughter. When Mickey looked to his side, Ian's face mirrored his incredulous expression. "Lip!? What the fuck, you didn't think it might be a good idea to mention that you're moving in with my boyfriend's sister?" he asked, and Mickey couldn't help but snort at this. 

"Look, dude, honestly I thought you were bringing more shit around here, but I should've known, since you only ever wear my shit," Mickey rolled his eyes and shifted back against the couch, throwing his arm around Ian's shoulders casually. "Plus we should expect that Mandy knew already," he sighed. "Crazy bitch knows fuckin' everything," he added under his breath. 

She shrugged a bit and winked at Lip. "Guilty."

"What the fuck," Ian groaned before leaning back into Mickey's side and snuggling in. 

Mickey rubbed his arm soothingly and smirked. "It's okay, baby, we got played," he said, amused eyes locked on Mandy and Lip.

"You did indeed," she replied before raising an eyebrow. "Let me guess, you're reconsidering me for the general manager position that randomly opened up at the Rub and Tug?" she asked, touching her tongue to her teeth through her grin. 

Mickey scoffed and threw his hand in the air. "Why don't  _you_ just tell me how this is all gonna go, Mands?" he asked, since it seemed that she knew just as much as she did. 

"Well, I talked to Svetlana and Caleb already-"

"Of course," he interrupted. 

"-and we decided that I would replace you as general manager and she would continue to be an employee slash worker, as she does. Caleb will be security and we'll be hiring another manager, since revenue has been steadily increasing- not that you would know that-" Mickey rolled his eyes and she smiled. "Basically, we have everything figured out," she shrugged and licked her lips. "You two deserve to get out of this- and so does Benny! None of this is your responsibility and you shouldn't have to deal with it," she said with a small wink. 

Mickey took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. She really did think of everything when it came to the two of them. "Wow, Mandy, I don't... fuck," he sighed, running a hand over his face. 

"What?"

"I don't wanna leave you," he admitted, shaking his head. "Not even if Lip is gonna stay with you," he said, chewing the inside of his lip. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but we can't go without you, and you're not gonna go with us to Mexico, so we'll just... figure something else out," he said, starting to pull his arm from around Ian. The ginger stopped him by grabbing his hand and holding him in place, but Mickey shifted anxiously in his seat anyway. 

She shook her head and put her hand out to touch Mickey's shoulder and settle him. "We'll be fine, Mick. You've taught me everything the past few years, come on, you know I can handle myself," she assured and if Ian hadn't been holding him in place, he would already have stood up and started pacing. 

"Fuck," he cursed. If there was one person he couldn't allow to get hurt because of him that wasn't Ian, it was Mandy. To be fair, she was in far less danger than the two of them, and if anything her position warranted constant protection, but that didn't make him any less concerned. "I don't want..."

"Come on, Mickey," she said softly. "Stop looking for excuses to stay. We can always come down to visit you some time, but after whatever this is, we both know you can't stay here. You have money, you two can go and live a happy, warm,  _incredible_ life together in Mexico," she assured, shaking her head. "Please, as much as I want to stay close to you, I want you safer more."

He looked down and licked his lips as Ian ran his fingers over Mickey's arm soothingly. "She's right, Mick," he said quietly. "We can do this, you know we can. And we'll have Benny, and I know you wanna take care of him, too. I'm sorry that this is our only option, babe, but we can do this," he assured, using his hand to turn Mickey's face to his. When they met eyes, Mickey could help but soften as he nodded his head.

"Since you have it all figured out, when do you suggest we figure out the car crash?" Mickey asked, swallowing thickly as he looked back to his sister. 

She smirked a little and bit her lip before glancing at her fucking boy toy. "Elliot and I already decided you're doing it on Friday."

***

Later that day, Mickey and Ian were in their room, gathering all their dirty laundry into three baskets, since it had been weeks since they'd actually cleaned anything. 

"You know, Mick, maybe if you didn't live in a fucking pig sty, packing would be a whole lot easier," Ian scoffed, kneeling on the ground and reaching under the bed.

His jaw dropped as he dug through his gun safe and shook his head. "Look, Gallagher, you're just as guilty as me, if not more. Ever since you stopped going to work you've had time to clean and you're just as responsible for this shit hole as me," he said, tossing the guns he planned on taking to Mexico with him onto the bed. 

Ian sat up and looked to Mickey before his eyes landed on the weapons. "Woah, no, we're going to Mexico with a clean slate, you can leave this shit or let Mandy sell it. You're not taking these," he demanded, folding his arms. 

 "Like hell I'm not," Mickey snorted and tossed an assault rifle onto the pile. 

Ian stood up and grabbed one of them. "Mickey,  _no._ We're already risking our lives crossing the border after  _faking our deaths,_ so why would we do something else to get us in trouble? You're not gonna need these down there," he assured, although the fond way he ran his fingers over the muzzle made Mickey feel otherwise. 

"Ian..." he sighed and rubbed his face. "I'm already losing the Mustang, I don't wanna get rid of my other babies, too," he said, reaching for the gun from Ian's hands. He moved it from Mickey's reach. "Gallagher," he scolded, leaning in closer and reaching up Ian's long ass arms for it. Ian smirked and bit his tongue. "Come on, man, what the fuck-" he began, cut off by Ian's mouth. Despite the fact that the ginger had irritated him, seeing Ian holding and practically jerking off his gun had turned him on despite himself, so he hesitated for a fraction of a second before kissing him back. 

Ian parted his lips and pulled him roughly against him with his arm around Mickey's back. He welcomed Ian's tongue into his mouth eagerly and cupped his jaw with his tattooed fingers, tilting his head down so he was kissing Mickey at a better angle. He pressed himself closer and moaned as Ian rutted his hips forward a bit and tossed the gun onto the bed before grabbed Mickey's thighs roughly and hiking them up his hips. 

"Fuck," Mickey murmured against his lips, wrapping his arms tighter around Ian's neck as his back was slammed against the wall. Ian ground into him steadily and he moaned before Ian started pulling his boxer shorts off of him. He let Mickey's feet touch the ground and barely waited a moment before dropping to his knees and wrapping his mouth around Mickey's dick. 

His hands fisted Ian's hair almost immediately, and he started bobbing his head around his boyfriend, running his fingers up Mickey's thighs. His eyes fell shut and he breathed heavily through his mouth. A moment later Ian's fingers were at Mickey's lips, and he sucked on them without hesitation, always turned on whenever Ian decided to do that. He swirled his tongue around Mickey, and if he hadn't been leaning against the door, his knees would have buckled. 

Ian seemed to notice and did it again, groaning around Mickey as he pulled his hair. A moment later, the fingers that had been in Mickey's mouth were pressing into his ass and he gasped, biting his lip to keep from making too much noise as pleasure consumed him. Ian's fingers pressed up and hit his prostate, and t his time, Mickey's knees did buckle a little and Ian gagged a bit in surprise but recovered quickly. As he felt himself nearing his climax, his hips started shifting forward and Ian noticed right away. His fingers stilled and he replaced his mouth with his hand, pumping excruciatingly slowly as he looked up at Mickey. 

"What the f-"

"Are you gonna take your guns to Mexico?" Ian asked, panting heavily, his lips swollen and wet as he looked up at his boyfriend, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

Mickey's mouth dropped open in surprise a bit as he realized what was happening. "Are you- are you blackmailing me with sex right now?" he asked, and Ian's hand slowed to a stop on his shaft, causing Mickey to squirm and shut his eyes in an attempt to regain his wits. 

"I don't know," he replied, curling his fingers against Mickey's prostate. He let out a breath and gripped Ian's hair tighter for support as he opened his eyes and looked down at him. "Are we taking the guns with us?"

He nodded his head. "I'm not playing this game, Gallagh-  _fuck,"_ he cut himself off as Ian's mouth landed on him again and his fingers started moving again, overwhelming him with blissful sensations. This time when he pulled back, he let his hand pump over Mickey expertly and kissed his hip, sucking on it harshly before looking up again. 

"Mickey, are we taking the guns to Mexico?" he repeated, and as Mickey edged his climax, he gasped. 

"Fucking fine-  _no_ ," he conceded, moaning as Ian's mouth returned to him and finished him quickly with his mouth. He swallowed when Mickey came and pulled away with a smile, standing up and kissing his boyfriend thoroughly before he pulled Mickey's boxers back up his legs for him and turned back to the task at hand happily. 

Mickey remained leaning against the door trying to catch his breath as he watched Ian bend over and look under the bed for any remaining clothing that needed to be washed. "You're a manipulative bastard, you know that?" Mickey panted, and Ian smiled when he turned to look. 

"Oh I know," he winked before he stood up. Mickey shoved off the door and started walking to  the laundry, stopping when Ian caught him by the hips and pulled him close again. "You love it, though," he assured as he bit his lip, his nose brushing against Mickey's gently. 

He rolled his eyes in response and pecked Ian on the lips gently, because he really did love it, the shoved him away. "Yeah whatever," he scoffed and Ian laughed, but watched as Mickey effortlessly lifted the laundry basket bursting at the brim with dirty clothes. "I'm gonna throw these in the washer and give Benny a call. You wanna pack up what we have left to take?" he asked, and Ian shrugged, not moving otherwise. 

"Can I just come down with you?" he asked, a pout on his lips. Mickey gave him a a look and he raised an eyebrow. "I just... I still feel weird about the whole Rossi thing and I just wanna be with you," he explained himself, although he shifted uncomfortably as he said it and Mickey licked his lips and sighed. 

It was insane how Ian could go from using sex as a weapon to begging Mickey to go and do laundry with him so he wouldn't be alone. "Alright, Gallagher, let's fuckin' go," he conceded, nodding to the door. Ian smiled and jumped forward to pounce on Mickey with a kiss before skipping down the hallway in front of him. He followed behind far less enthusiastically than his boyfriend, glaring at Mandy and Lip where they were sprawled across the couch making out. He grimaced and slammed the apartment door behind him and Ian. 

"So how long does it take to get from Chicago from Mexico?" Ian asked, rocking back on his heels as he entered the elevator and leaned against the wall to look at Mickey. He set the basket down and shrugged, ready to stand across from Ian until he grabbed Mickey by the collar and pressed their fronts together. Mickey grunted a little in surprise but allowed it, simply setting his hands flat on Ian's chest. 

"Well if we go straight through it would be 29 hours. With you, me  _and_ Benny we can always trade off shifts driving, so maybe a day or two?" he shrugged, running his fingers appreciatively over Ian's chest and torso. 

He looked down at Mickey's lips as he spoke and looked back up to meet his eyes when he replied, "What are we gonna do when we get there?" 

"We... are gonna have a nice, relaxing life," he assured, bringing his hands around to rest at Ian's sides. "Nothing but tequila and sandals from here out," he smirked and Ian smiled back, holding Mickey's jaw between his hands. 

He leaned down and kissed him softly, the smile evident on his mouth as he did so. His tongue pierced through Mickey's parted lips and trailed happily between them just as the elevator chimed. Immediately, the shorter man started pulling away and turning to look who it was, but Ian kept a hold on his waist even as he stood to the side and came eye to eye with none other than his squeal-y neighbor, McKayla. 

"Oh. My. God!!! Mickey Milkovich and his  _boyfriend,_ I haven't sen you in forever where have you  _been,_ it's been like weeks and oh my god, I've barely seen Mandy around either, although I saw her with a boy, and Jeremy and I were talking about maybe coming up and inviting you to dinner but I said, 'No, Jeremy, I think that Mandy and Mickey both have dates and they'd rather spend time with their dates than us' and so he suggested that we have a triple date, you know like a double date but with three couples instead of two- oh, are you two doing laundry? That's so much, oh my god, when's the last time you guys did your clothes? That's gonna be a whole lot of quarters for you guys to finish, but hey, it happens, I understand," she finished with a sigh, and Mickey wondered how she was able to breathe out anymore since she barely even paused to take in a breath. In all reality, her speech was just one huge run on sentence, like a stream of consciousness but less put understandable. 

When Mickey glanced over, Ian's mouth was hanging slightly ajar as he watched in awe. "Nice to see you again," he said politely, though it was obvious that he was praying she would leave so he could jump on Mickey again. 

"Aw, you, too," she smiled and sighed. "Well, I'm actually going down to get a load of laundry, so I'll ride down with y'all."

Mickey looked at Ian with a grimace, and they seemed to shrink back as her huge personality took up all the space in the elevator. "Sounds good," Mickey muttered before realizing that this could be goodbye. "Oh my god, McKayla," he grinned, realizing that this would be the last time he had to deal with her perky annoying way anymore. "Ian and I aren't gonna see you anymore, because-" Ian pinched his side hard and he gasped, looking up at the ginger with furrowed eyebrows. "Ian, what the fu-"

"I don't really think anything is gonna be changing just because I'm moving in, Mickey," he said, rolling his eyes a bit. The blonde girl laughed a little, obviously curious. "I practically live here anyways."

And just like that, Mickey realized that all it took was him spilling the beans to one random neighbor to cause the complete and utter downfall of their plan. The fact that it was him instead of Ian was nothing if not surprising, but a horrifying notion nonetheless. He swallowed and nodded his head, letting Ian finish the conversation. If McKayla knew they were moving, then heard news of them dying on the same day, she'd be suspicious and mention it in passing to her boyfriend while walking down the street, and there they were at risk of Joey hearing her and tracking Ian, Mickey and Benny down while on their way and before they knew it, they'd be hit. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is literal trash and later than it's ever been holy fucking shit  
> i'm soooooo sorry, i promise i love you all, please comment, the next chapter is coming soon as hell and it'll be good i promise!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1  
> LOVE YOU SO MUCH FUCK I SUCK FUCK FUCK   
> OK MY BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN, MY PRIDE AND JOY  
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	49. Chapter 49

By the time Mickey and Ian finished their sixth and final load of laundry, they'd already had about three shared hand jobs in the basement laundry room, and it was nearly three am. When they finally finished folding their laundry and haphazardly fixing their own outfits, they straightened and made their way back to the elevator with sated smiles and swollen lips. 

"Alright, so Benny will be over at some point today," Mickey explained, dropping his basket to the ground. Ian did the same, just far more gracefully, a moment later. "Then we have until tomorrow morning to do anything else before we go," he finished with a deep sigh, turning to look at Ian sideways. 

Ian simply nodded and leaned forward to kiss Mickey quickly. "Okay," he said contently, leaning back against the wall and resting his head on Mickey's shoulder. 

He blinked a few times before leaning down and pressing a kiss to Ian's hair. "Thank you for being so amazing about all of this," he said quietly, still nervous to even talk about it. He nuzzled closer to Mickey and grinned against his throat, humming contently. 

"Remember when you tried to say we shouldn't be together because it was too dangerous," he chuckled, his lips brushing against Mickey's neck with every word. 

He scoffed a little and wrapped his arm around Ian's back, rubbing it gently as he replied, "You mean that time I tried to use my head to keep from needing to run away to Mexico so neither of us get murdered? Vaguely."

Ian hummed his laughter and started kissing Mickey's neck, as though it were funny. "But it's worth it for this hot piece of ass, right?" he asked, letting his tongue roll out onto Mickey's skin. He licked his lips and bit them a bit to keep his breathing steady. 

"Yeah it was worth it for your ass," he concluded, letting his hand slide down to squeeze Ian's ass to further prove the bullshit excuse. 

He bit his neck gently and rolled the skin between his teeth. "No other reasons though, right?" he asked, reaching down to grope Mickey through his pajama shorts. 

He laughed and shook his head. "Nah, that's about all you got going for you," he responded and trailed his fingers up and under Ian's shirt to press his fingers against Ian's back. 

Ian pulled away abruptly a moment later and picked up his laundry basket, clearing his throat quickly. "Well I guess there's no reason for me to continue then," he shrugged, just as the elevator pinged to signal they had reached their floor. 

"Wh-" Mickey began before realizing that there was nothing he could do to stop Ian when he decided to be stubborn. "Whatever," he sighed, watching as Ian walked out of the elevator and stomped down the hall. 

He entered the apartment recklessly and stopped short, looking back at Mickey right away. "I thought Benny wasn't coming until tomorrow," he said, and he shrugged in response, looking over Ian's shoulder to see Benny sitting on the couch, a little uncomfortable with how close Mandy was sitting next to him. 

Her hand rested on his shoulder and a smile was across her face as the couple walked into the living room, shutting the door behind them. Lip sat pouting on the edge of the couch, looking both jealous and defeated. "Obviously he wanted to come meet me before you guys abandoned me," she giggled, biting her lip. 

"That, of course, and also Rossi woke up and I figured that if we're gonna do this and do it well, he shouldn't see me," he shrugged, shifting away from Mandy just barely. 

Mickey chuckled and nodded, setting his basket down and trying to pull Ian towards him, but failing as the ginger stubbornly avoided his grip. "Well good, we should, uh... discuss some things anyways," Mickey said, pinching Ian's arm. He flinched and smacked Mickey on the chest, sneering when he caught Ian's hand and used it to pull him closer in a death grip. 

"Um... kay," he replied, standing up from the couch just before being yanked back down by Mandy. 

She laughed and shifted even closer. "Why can't you guys just talk about it here?" she asked, throwing a bare leg over Benny's. 

He stood abruptly then and walked towards the couple and away from the horny teenage girl. "Let's go somewhere private to talk. I think I need to leave a note or something to tell Rossi why I'm leaving," he said with a shrug. "Like something about Mason or something like that... I don't know." 

Mickey simply nodded and patted Benny on the back, leading him to the kitchen and tugging Ian close behind by the hand. "Fucking asshole," Ian muttered, his hand limp as Mickey squeezed it endearingly. 

They sat at the table, Ian and Mickey on one side and Benny across from them on the other. "That's the exact idea I had," Mickey told him, his chest warming when Ian finally gripped his hand back. "I figured that since you're still so young and fresh you could leave a letter saying that you can't do it without Mason and that you won't squeal and you're leaving the state. Since you're not made hopefully it won't be too brutal," he said with a shrug, stroking his thumb over the back of Ian's hand. 

"Okay," he nodded, too distracted and seemingly nervous to say anything else in response. 

"Wait!" Ian burst, causing the others to flinch a little. "Why the  _fuck_ didn't you tell us you were related to Elliot? And why have I still not  _met_ Elliot?" 

Mickey's head snapped to look over at Benny. "Yeah, I was wondering the same thing," he added before glancing at Ian. "And because you know you'd just get irrationally jealous about like anything he did," he explained, rolling his eyes. Ian started to protest before considering and shrugging in assent. 

When they looked back to Benny, he was chewing on his lip and concentrating on Mickey's face. "I didn't say anything because... he's been trying for years to get my dad out of the Life, and the one time he thought about getting out, he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and... he got hit," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Since then he's been doing what he can to get me to leave, but it's hard to do it for someone who is the reason your dad was murdered," he shrugged. "Can't complain, though, he was right that I needed to get out."

Mickey nodded and bit the inside of his cheek as he thought about Elliot. "I'm sure he feels insanely guilty about it, Benny," he said, and Ian squeezed his hand. "The whole reason he wanted your dad- and you- out is so that you wouldn't get hurt. He's doing more than he knows by helping us fake that crash. By tomorrow, we're gonna be on our way to Mexico and once we get over the border, we're gonna be fucking free. We won't have to deal with Rossi and all his bullshit, we won't have collections or runs or fucking hits. We'll have the beach and tequila and whatever the fuck else we want," he said, and Benny perked up a little. "And it's all because of Elliot. So I get that you're pissed at him for your dad and that's fucking fine, it's honestly none of my business, but just keep in mind that without him, we'd both fucking die."

With that he stood up and Ian followed as he started walking back to their room. "Make sure you're all packed up and ready to go. We're leaving before the crash," he said, and closed the door behind them when they got into the bedroom. 

Ian turned around and leaned his back against the door to look at Mickey while he ran a hand through his hair. "What was that?" he asked, and Mickey looked up at him. 

"What are you talking about?" 

"The big speech about appreciating what Elliot is doing even though he fucked up," he specified, eyebrows furrowed. "Since when have you given a fuck about anyone else's bullshit?"

Mickey shrugged and walked forward until his body was pressed against Ian's, then he brought his hands up to cup his jaw. "I don't know, I just... we wouldn't be able to do this if Elliot wasn't helping us. Or Nate, but I don't really care about him. If it hadn't been for you, he'd probably be the number one reason I'm getting out at all," he explained, leaning forward to press his forehead against Ian's. 

He reached out and wrapped his arms around Mickey's back, looking between his eyes and his mouth. "I'm really happy that we're doing this, Mick," he said quietly and Mickey closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. "I love you," he added, and when Mickey looked back at him, he smiled a little, "so fucking much."

He grinned back a little before leaning forward to press their lips together. Ian tugged him impossibly closer as they kissed and Mickey made no move to deepen it. They didn't need the passionate, lustful kisses right now because that wasn't why they were leaving. They were leaving because of the pure, real love they felt for one another, and that was something that Mickey wouldn't ever feel again. Granted, he doubted he'd ever feel the passion he had with Ian with anyone else, but it was nothing in comparison to how ridiculously in love he was with the idiot. 

"Fuck," Mickey laughed as he pulled away, soaking in the sight of Ian before him. It was practically pitch black in the room, so the only thing giving off light was the moon, and it was casting all sorts of weird shadows across Ian's sharp features, but it only made him look better. "I love you, too," he said, and Ian winked. 

"You better."

***

The next morning- or mid afternoon, since the boys didn't wake up til 1- everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells. No one wanted to say anything about the fact that the boys would all be leaving that night, but no one wanted to be so casual as to insinuate that nothing would be changing. Except Mandy of course. 

"So are you fuckers ready to hit the road?" she asked, and Mickey rolled his eyes as he took a drink of orange juice. 

Ian shrugged and sighed, buttering his toast slowly. "Yep, can't wait. We just don't have a car that we can take," he said, biting into the bread. 

"Svet already has one all lined up for you. I think she stole it, but it's cool," she shrugged, winking when Benny made eye contact with her. Almost immediately, Lip shifted closer to her. 

Mickey scoffed, "Yeah of course she did. She stopping by with it later?" 

"Um, yes? Did you really think that she would let you guys leave without seeing you first? That girl loves you to fucking death, she's gonna get a heartfelt goodbye from you if it fucking kills her," Mandy scoffed, picking up her mimosa and taking a hearty gulp. 

Mickey nodded. "That seems about right. Do you know when she's coming over?" 

She shrugged and finished off her drink before replying, "Within the next like four minutes."

"Within the next four min-"

"Good morning!" the door opened in the middle of Mickey's sentence to reveal Svetlana and Caleb, a wide grin across her face. 

"What the fuck," Mickey sighed. 

"Maybe sooner," Mandy added, nodding to the two. 

"Mikhailo!" Svetlana screeched the second she saw him. She rushed over to where he sat at the table and threw herself onto his lap, speaking a mile a minute in Russian as she straddled him and hugged him tightly. 

He grunted in surprise and muttered, "Christ," as she started rocking back and forth, stroking the back of his head. Part of him wanted to shove her off and tell her to fuck off, but the stronger part that loved and missed her raised his hands to her back to hug her back. He started off by patting the middle of her back casually before he realized that he would probably never see her again and then he couldn't help but wrap his arms around her tightly and sit up a little straighter. 

At first he figured she could just come visit them in Mexico whenever Mandy and Lip came down before he realized that she wasn't even a US citizen, so if she came down, she wouldn't be able to come back up. He turned and buried his face in her hair, closing his eyes as he held her. She continued to whisper quietly in Russian before pulling away and looking down at Mickey, tears streaming down her face. 

"You are doing so good, Mikhailo, you take good care of your family," she nodded, brushing his hair back from his face. Mickey felt everyone looking at them but he didn't care. He didn't know when the next time he'd see her- if he ever would- was after today, and he couldn't hold anything back. "I am so glad I find you in Milwaukee, I am so glad we open business together. And I am so glad you're leaving. I want you safe, Mikhailo, and I want you happy," she assured, still cupping his face between her hands. She pressed her lips together before leaning down and kissing Mickey gently on the forehead. 

He started blinking quickly then, nearly moved to tears by her speech and gesture, but he looked away before they could fall. A moment later she got up and moved to Ian's lap, repeating her lap/hugging scene before pulling away and looking Ian in the eyes. "I have never seen Mikhailo so happy," she began, and right away, Mickey looked to Mandy, knowing that if he watched the two of them, he wouldn't be able to help crying, but she was no help. Her face was buried in Lip's shirt, and the tear stains were evident as he rubbed her back and shrugged. "I only wish..." she sniffled a bit and rubbed Ian's cheek with her thumb. "I only wish I could know you better. Because anyone who can do what you do to Mikhailo is someone I know I will love. I know I  _do_ love. Thank you, Red boy," she said with a watery laugh, and Ian returned it, obviously crying as well. "Thank you for making my Mikhailo so happy- and whipped- and for getting him to be safe," she finished her speech before pressing her forehead against Ian's and hugging him tightly again. 

Mickey licked his lips and stood up, hissing a small, "Fuck," before walking down the hallway and blinking away his tears. He felt a hand on his shoulder a second later and he turned around the see Caleb. "Oh, wha- what the fuck do you want, man?" he asked, running a hand through his hair. 

"Look, Milkovich, I know you don't like me, and that's fine," he said with a shrug. "But I still need to talk to you. I know you're not one for the whole appreciation, affection thing, especially with people you hate, but... I know what you've done for Ian. I know what you will do and  _would_ do for him if necessary. And I gotta tell you... he really deserves that," he began, and Mickey was taken aback. "Ian has always been a good hearted kid, and even if he makes some stupid ass decisions sometimes, I never thought he'd find someone who deserved him. And while I still think that, there's no denying that you're the only one who comes close," he said, refusing to make eye contact with Mickey. He stuck out his hand, though, and Mickey took it tentatively, eyebrows furrowed as Caleb looked at him and shook it. "You better keep him safe, Milkovich, because if I hear a single thing about him being hurt, nothing- not even being in a different country- will save you. Got it?"

Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes, but laughed and shook Caleb's hand back. "Yeah, sure.  _You'll_ be the one to hurt  _me_ if I fuck up," he nodded sarcastically before using his other hand to twist Caleb's wrist and press painfully, nearly at the point of breaking it. 

"What the fuck-"

"That was a nice, heartfelt speech, but I still don't trust you," Mickey began, and Caleb grunted as Mickey pulled him forward and spoke quietly in his ear. 

"Obviously."

"So, Mandy ever tells me anything about you making poor fucking decisions and I'll come right back to the land of the motherfucking free and fucking demolish you, do you understand me?" he asked, twisting his wrist a little harder until Caleb yelped.

"Yeah- I understand!" he shouted and immediately Mickey let him go. He started rubbing his wrist and furrowed his eyebrows. "You're a violent little fuck, you know that?" he asked, looking Mickey up and down. 

He shrugged. "Oh I know," he answered before sighing. "Well, anyways, welcome to the Rub and Tug family," he grinned, patting Caleb on the shoulder as he walked past him to get back into the kitchen. Svetlana had taken the liberty of sitting in his chair and he sighed, walking around to the back of Ian's chair and standing behind him. He stood still for a minute, listening to their conversation- which had shifted to male seahorses somehow- before he reached down and started running his fingers through Ian's hair. Not touching Ian had begun to make him anxious. 

He leaned back into Mickey's touch before tilting his head back to look at him. The others continued their conversation as Mickey leaned down and kissed Ian Spider Man style, unsure of how having his head bent so far back could possibly be comfortable. He made sure to keep listening just to make sure no one stopped talking and turned their attention to the two to of them, but sighed when Ian brought his hand up and held the back of Mickey's neck.

Unlike what he'd been expecting, Mickey was startled by a clicking noise and pulled back to see Mandy with her phone pointed at the two of them, the shuttering noise turning out to have been her camera. 

"-so it's crazy that they carry the... babies," Benny finished his sentence, obviously realizing that no one was listening to him anymore. 

"Really, Mandy?" Mickey asked, standing up straight again. 

She laughed and showed the photo to Svetlana as she put her head in her hands. "I'm sorry, you guys just do so many cute things, it makes me wanna capture the moment," she explained, and he rolled his eyes again, although he figured she knew he'd want the picture sent to him despite his complaints. 

"Mikhailo, you get gayer every day," Svetlana said casually, handing Mandy her phone back. 

Ian and Lip snorted and Mickey took a deep breath. "Thanks for that, Svet," he sighed. 

"You guys should probably get a head start," Mandy commented. "We can help you carry your shit to the car, then you guys need to get the fuck gone."

It was painfully obvious that Mandy was barely holding it together, but Mickey nodded, and everyone grew sullen as they stood up and started gathering the bags from their sporadic locations across the house. Mickey waited until almost everyone had something and began carrying it downstairs before he grabbed Mandy by the arm. 

"Hey, Mands," he said, and she stopped to look at him, swallowing tears immediately. "Mandy," he repeated with a deep breath.

Her face crumbled then and she latched onto Mickey tightly, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his throat. He returned the gesture, not hesitating to hold her tightly and turn his face into her hair. She cried against his neck, and he closed his eyes as hard as he could to keep himself under control.

Mandy was his baby sister, he'd practically raised the girl, and leaving her was going to rip him apart. He'd been pushing away the nagging idea that he would be abandoning her for weeks now, but today there would be no stopping it. All rationale told him that she would be fine- that he'd done a perfectly fine job of showing her the ropes and teaching her how to take care of herself- but all he saw was a six year old girl who hadn't eaten in days that he had to find food for. He saw a twelve-year old, dark haired preteen who had just gotten her first period and didn't have a mom to explain to her what that meant. He saw the sixteen year old fighting with him and his brothers about how she didn't need to finish high school because none of them did. But the Mandy that made his chest ache most was the nineteen year old young woman that clung to him in that moment. The one who nearly made him laugh, who made him pissed, confused, worried, and the one who broke his heart with how much she'd grown up. He was prouder of Mandy than she would ever know, and it ruined him. 

"I love you so much, Mickey," she said, pulling back and looking at him, wiping the tears from his eyes. "You're going to do so good in Mexico, and I'm so glad you have Ian to be there with you. I'm so glad you found him, Mick," she sniffled before taking a deep breath. "Wow, come on, suck it up," she said, clearing her throat as she wiped her face. "It's not like I won't come visit you. It'll be like a fucking paid vacation, right?" 

He chuckled and nodded. "Right. You can come and stay with me and Ian and Benny any time."

"Or I guess a...  _gay_ cation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is ONE CHAPTER LEFT  
> ONE  
> ONE   
> holy shit you guys it has been a JOURNEY but I'm gonna wait til the last chapter to give my heartfelt speech.   
> okay please please comment you beautiful, angelic bearded dragons  
> i fucking love you all so much.   
> fuck  
> i'll update soon <3


	50. Chapter 50

The time came sooner than anyone was really prepared for, and the hours before were filled with tight hugs and anxious foot tapping and emotional side glances. Really, their group had been sprawled out across the living room, with Mandy cuddled into her brother's side as though they'd sat this close to each other every day of their lives. They passed around a bong and talked about stupid stories and pretended that Benny, Ian, and Mickey weren't going to be leaving. Every once in a while tears would fall silently down Mandy's cheeks and no one would address it verbally, but Ian or Lip or Svet would smile and gently wipe them from her face. Mickey  _would,_ but he was certain that if he did, he would start crying, too.

Eventually, though, the clock struck five, and Mickey stared at the numbers on his phone, willing them to turn back, yet thanking them for getting it over with. "Well," Benny was the first to speak, standing from his place on the floor. "I hate to be the one to say it, but we should go," he said quietly, brushing his hands off on his pants nervously. 

Mickey swallowed thickly and looked at Mandy, who pressed her lips together in an attempt to keep from crying again. Even so, her bottom lip started quivering and her eyes filled to the brim with tears. "I guess this is it," she sniffled and Mickey nodded slowly, pulling Mandy to him roughly and holding her against him tight. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hiccuped through her tears before pulling back and meeting his eyes with a deep breath. 

"This isn't  _it,_ Mandy," he replied with a light laugh. "We'll see each other when you come down to visit. And if Caleb ever pulls some shit I will not hesitate to fly the fuck up here and beat his ass," he said, looking behind him to meet Caleb's eyes and nod menacingly. He rolled his eyes, but Mickey sneered and turned back to his sister. "I love you, Mands, you know that right?" he asked quietly, and her eyebrows furrowed as she nodded. 

"I love you, too, Mick," she replied, the tears cascading down her cheeks freely now. He studied her face one more time before leaning down and kissing her forehead. 

"You're gonna be fine, okay? We both will," he assured her, and she simply cried harder as she nodded and shrugged. "We've got this."

She chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, we fuckin' got this."

He took a deep breath and ruffled her hair before standing up and looking at Svetlana as Ian and Mandy said their last goodbye. He simply opened his arms and waited for the slam of her small body against his. It came far more gently than he'd been expecting, and she sighed against him, squeezing tightly once before she pulled away. Before he knew what was happening, her lips were on his and her hands were cradling his face. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn't pull away immediately. 

She was away a second later, though, and Mickey opened his eyes to see Ian's hand on her arm and his eyes narrowed at her. She bit her lip through her smile, obviously pleased with Ian's reaction. Mickey started laughing at Ian's irrational jealousy of Svetlana just before she surged forward and kissed Ian the same way. He pressed his lips together since he knew that she was just trying to get a rise out of him, but when Ian raised his hands to her waist and kissed her back, he rolled his eyes and literally picked Svetlana up off the ground, setting her down a few feet away. 

"Hands off, okay?" he instructed, and she giggled, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand. 

"Hands off except for you, yes?" she asked, licking her lips. 

Mickey nodded, tugging Ian against himself harshly. "Yes, hands off except for me, it's not that hard of a concept," he said, and Ian stuck his tongue out at Svetlana, pressing himself closer to Mickey. 

She rolled her eyes and waved them off. "You two need to get. I stay with Mandy and Phillip, you three go," she urged, and Mickey sighed, nodding his head. 

"Alright..." he replied, licking his lips and looking from Lip to Caleb. "I hear a bad word about either of you and I'll be back here with some new Mexican street fighting skills to kick both of your asses, you got that?" he asked, and they rolled their eyes but nodded. He looked to his crying sister one last time and ruffled her hair. "Love you, kid," he muttered and she simply nodded as Ian turned them around started leading them to the door, squeezing Mandy's shoulder on the way. 

"Let's get this shit show on the road," Benny said with a sigh, opening the door for the couple. Ian had to pull Mickey out as he hesitated, again thinking about the repercussions this could have on his sister. 

By the time Benny closed the door, Mickey was already turning back around. "Mick, stop- Mickey- Mi- I can't- damn it, Mickey, stop!" Ian barked, and his boyfriend froze, Ian's hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "Think about this," he said once Mickey was making eye contact. "We can fucking do this," he said, bringing his hands up to cup Mickey's face. "Mandy can fucking do this. We're all gonna be fine," he assured. "You know we will."

He bit his lip, bringing a hand up to grab Ian's wrist and looked down as he tried to collect himself. He opened his mouth to reply, but Benny interrupted before he could say a word. "Look, I hate to interrupt, but you two are supposed to be dying in a couple hours, so we're gonna have to get going if you want to make it out in time," he called from the top of the stairs. 

"Damn it, Estabon, we're having a motherfucking moment here!" Ian snapped, and they heard Benny's clear laughter as he started descending the stairs. Mickey laughed, too, and looked up at his boyfriend, smitten with the ridiculous man. "Alright?" he asked, nudging Mickey's nose with his own. He nodded and leaned in, letting Ian kiss him gently and reassuringly. He brought his hands up to twine his fingers in his hair and sigh into Ian's lips. He pulled away a few blissful moments later and smiled down at Mickey. "We'll make it."

***

They'd only been driving for an hour when Ian started complaining about needing to go to the bathroom. "Ian, I fucking told you to go before we left," Mickey said, gripping the wheel tighter, but trying to keep the hand that rested on Ian's leg calm. 

"I didn't have to  _go_ then," he scoffed and crossed his arms, looking out the window stubbornly. 

Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes, willing himself to pull his hand away from Ian to prove just how irritated he was, but not touching Ian made him anxious, and right now the last thing he needed was more anxiety. "Alright, I'll stop at the next gas station I see," he grumbled reluctantly. Ian softened immediately and grinned, taking Mickey's hand again and humming contently. "Fucking wacko," he concluded. 

"Hey, can I make a music suggestion?" Benny asked from where he was sprawled across the backseat, reading whatever thick novel was in his hands. 

"Absolutely not," Mickey shook his head and Ian chuckled. 

He huffed and sat up, making eye contact with Mickey through the rear view mirror. "It's not what you think it'll be!" 

"No, Benny, we aren't listening to your gay bullshit," he said, rolling his eyes. 

He gasped, obviously offended before shooting back, " _My_ gay bullshit!? Have you two not heard any of the words coming out of your own mouths?"

Mickey looked back at him in the mirror an raised an eyebrow. "What was that, Estabon?" he asked menacingly, and Ian rolled his eyes, smirking a little. 

"You are the gayest motherfuckers I've ever met, and I'm not talking about homosexuality," he fought back and Ian snickered at the audacity. 

Mickey's lip twitched a little and he turned his attention back to the road. "I'm gonna beat your ass while Ian takes a piss," he promised and Benny snorted, turning back to his book. 

"Yeah, sure, Milkovich."

"You know what, when did you get to have such an attitude with me? You used to be this innocent, shy little dude and now you're calling me a gay motherfucker and acting like I won't whoop the fuck out of you," he shook his head, turning his attention back to the road and flicking his blinker on after seeing a gas station sign for the next exit. 

Benny shrugged and flipped the page, obviously disinterested in the conversation. "I don't know, I guess you just make me feel comfortable enough to be myself," he said offhandedly, as though that statement wouldn't hit Mickey directly in the chest. 

But, of course, it did, and he chewed the inside of his cheek as he pulled up to the gas station and parked, patting Ian's leg before he flew out of the car and inside the building. Of course Benny would say something that would make Mickey feel all sentimental just before he was gonna kick his ass. That genius little motherfucker. 

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbled, crossing his arms. 

Benny moved up so that he was leaning between the driver's and passenger seats, elbows resting on the center console so he was looking up at Mickey. "You know, I didn't really think we'd make it this far," he said, nodding slowly. "I thought that you or Ian would realize what a bad idea this was and flake, but you didn't. Not yet, anyway," he added. 

Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes, flicking Benny's forehead. "Yeah, because me- the ex con- and Ian- the smitten, traumatized ex-stripper and sugar baby- are gonna be the ones to flake. If it's anyone, Benny, it's gonna be you. You're the freshest," he said with a shrug, and Benny's jaw dropped. 

"No way! No, you two would be the first to go, I know it," he said with a nod. "I'll bet you twenty bucks that one of you chickens out before I do."

He snorted and put his hand out to shake on it, "I will take that bet no fuckin' questions asked. Idiot."

Ian came jogging out of the shop and around the corner then, arms bearing a fuck load of junk food that no one had asked for. Mickey leaned over the passenger's seat and opened the door for him, since he'd drop all of his shit if he tried to open it himself. And because Ian brought out the gentleman in him. 

"The fuck's all that?" he asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. 

A huge smile was spread across Ian's face as he dropped all the food onto the floor between his feet and looked from it to Mickey a few times. "Road trip snacks!" he burst, and Mickey rubbed his forehead to try and relieve the tension headache he was getting. 

"Road trip sna- did you even go to the bathroom?" he asked as he looked back up at Ian. 

The ginger tore open a bag of tropical Skittles and dumped about half of it in his mouth before replying, "Yes, I went to the fucking bathroom, now drive."

Mickey grimaced and looked away. "You're fucking gross," he commented as he started pulling out. 

"Mickey, kiss me," Ian said around his mouthful of candy. Mickey shook his head and shrunk away as Ian leaned into him, barely even able to close his mouth around all of it. 

He shoved at Ian unceremoniously and didn't even try to hide the disgusted look on his face. "I got three cavities just from watching you fucking do that," he commented when Ian finally settled down, still laughing. 

"Yeah, I know, you're such a huge advocate of dental hygiene," Ian snickered. 

Mickey grumbled under his breath and merged back onto the highway, not even trying to be subtle about reaching over and putting his hand back on Ian's leg. The ginger responded by placing his hand over Ian's and winding their fingers together as he ate his Skittles like a normal person now. 

"Gaaayyy," Benny sang from the backseat. 

"Say that again and I'll shove your dick down your throat," Mickey replied deadpan, the only response Benny and Ian's laughter. He sneered a little as he watched the road and pouted. No one took him seriously anymore because Ian softened all his fucking blows. Asshole. 

The drive remained uneventful after that, the most interesting thing a little dispute between Ian and Benny over who got the aux chord. When Benny agreed to trade the chord for a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, it went back to normal, though. For the next four hours, the three of them bumped to classic rock and a little bit of unexpected old school rap from Ian's playlist, just before Benny's phone began to ring. 

They all froze and looked at the device as though it were about to explode. 

"Answer it," Ian prompted, and Benny swallowed, looking at the UNKNOWN NUMBER flashing on the screen. "Dude, just do it."

He pressed his lips together and put it on speaker immediately. "Hello?" he asked, scratching the back of his head nervously. 

"Benny?" Mandy's voice crackled through the shitty speaker. 

"Yeah! Yeah, did it.... did it work?" he asked, looking at Mickey through the mirror again. 

She blew out a breath and then laughed a little, "I just watched the whole thing from like behind a tree in a cemetery- and I think there's someone buried under it, so it felt kind of sacrilegious- but anyways, yeah it was  _really_ realistic! I felt the fire from like a block away, and I cried a bit, actually. Elliot was here the whole time, though, say hi, Elliot!"

"Hey, guys," he obeyed, sounding muffled. "Benny? How are you doing, son? Everything okay?"

Benny  chewed his lip a bit, obviously uncomfortable with the directness. Mickey jumped in immediately, though, ready to save the day as always. "Yeah, everything's great! We've got about 20 hours left, so... woohoo," he chuckled, and Ian squeezed his hand.

"That's good, I'm glad to hear it. I can't tell you boys how happy I am that this is all working out in your favor, I just... I knew that if it came together like this, it would all be worth it," he explained, and Mickey's eyebrows furrowed at just how meaningful that actually was. 

Benny dropped his head into his hand and sighed. "Yeah, I'm glad it worked out, too," he added. 

"Alright, we should go, but we love you guys!" Mandy interrupted again, and the line grew even more crackly. "Text me when you get there!" 

"Yeah, Mands, we will," Ian agreed and with that Benny promptly hung up. 

They all remained quiet for a second before Ian let out a huge cheer, and then Benny and Mickey followed until the whole car was erupting with shouts and laughter. "I think this calls for a  _victory bowl!"_ Benny shouted, pulling out what looked like a makeshift bong made from an old Gatorade bottle. 

"Benny, what the  _fuck_ is that ghetto shit?" Mickey asked, and he shrugged, already lighting it and taking a hit. 

He breathed out and looked up at Mickey, coughing a little. "Look man, I don't tell you how to live your life, okay? I like the aftertaste of red Gatorade, sue me. Wanna hit?" he said, taking in another big rip before passing it up to Mickey. 

He smoked it, taking his hands off the wheels for a second before Ian reached over and kept the car in it's lane. When he was done, he blew it out and passed the bottle to Ian, taking the wheel back over. As he drove, though, he couldn't help but watch Ian as he smoked from the ugly ass low grade, sad excuse of a bong and lick his lips. Ian Gallagher was the only person who could make smoking from a ghetto bong look sexy. He looked back over at Mickey before smirking a little and blowing the smoke out. 

On an instinct, Mickey looked his boyfriend up and down and snickered, "Somethin' else I wanna hit," before pulling off the empty road and into a long field of yellow grass. He parked the car quickly and looked back at Benny, stuffing his face with the Doritos. "Aye, go take a leak," he said, already unbuckling. 

Benny shrugged, stuffing another chip into his mouth as he replied, "Don't need to."

"Then go... do yoga. Sing fuckin' Taylor Swift, I don't give a shit, get out of the fuckin' car," he snapped and Benny raised his eyebrows, chewing his Doritos with a sense of disobedience and sass. He scoffed and grabbed the bag before reluctantly leaving the car and flipping the bird at Mickey on his way out. He simply laughed it off and watched until Benny was sitting beneath a tree eating his chips before he turned and looked Ian up and down. He waved him closer and nodded, licking his lips, "Come here."

Ian surged forward immediately, bringing their lips together fervently. Mickey kissed back without hesitation, bringing his hands up to cup Ian's face. Their lips parted quickly, bringing way to a deeper, desperate kiss as they tumbled into the back seat. Ian pushed Mickey's coat from his shoulders sloppily, not letting their mouths part as he did so. They shed themselves to the minimal amount of clothing it would take before they froze to death in the cold air, clutching to each other. 

Mickey spread his hands flat on Ian's hard chest and rounded them to his back, pulling their bodies flush. "I love you so much," Ian panted against Mickey's neck just before kissing it far more gently than he'd been expecting. "I can't wait to spend my life with you," he added, kissing a line up to Mickey's ear.

His heart practically burst in his chest at the genuine, precious words his boyfriend spoke and he brought his fingers into Ian's hair, fisting it gently. "I love you, too," he moaned back, his breath catching as Ian began grinding into him and tugging his boxers down his legs. He didn't bother taking his own all the way off, and simply pulled them past his thighs as he settled between Mickey's legs. "Fuck, I love you," he repeated, needing to get the words and the meaning behind them across. 

Ian chuckled a little, lips still on Mickey's neck, not hesitating to suck at the skin and reach down to start pumping his hand over Mickey's shaft. He hummed in delight and grabbed at the bag from the floor beside the backseat, ruffling through it with his left hand until he felt a small cardboard box and grabbed a condom from it, kissing Ian back when he returned their mouths together. 

Without thinking, he rolled the rubber onto Ian and felt around blindly for lube, not bothering to check it as he pumped it onto his boyfriends length, too distracted with his mouth to think clearly enough to do so. Ian lined himself up between Mickey's legs and pushed into him slowly, groaning into his mouth before licking down his jaw and practically latching onto his boyfriends neck. Mickey gasped and clutched at Ian's hair, his eyes rolling back when the ginger started his hard thrusts. Their motions were both panicked and desperate, releasing so much pent up energy and tension that it left them both shaking, despite being high. 

The fear that came with their car crash potentially falling through turned to relief, and they gradually became sloppy and slow as their adrenaline went down, leaving Ian's heavy thrusts slower and deeper. He moved to kiss Mickey again, running his hands down his sides and hiking Mickey's thighs up higher over his hips, causing the shorter man to groan into his mouth as Ian hit deeper inside of him and pleasure exploded behind his eyelids. 

He knew without a doubt that he wouldn't last much longer- nor would the car if their movements kept moving it like that. He parted his lips and welcomed Ian's tongue into his mouth, knowing he wasn't far behind. Ian brought his fingers to wrap around Mickey's dick and started pumping it in unison with his own hips, pushing Mickey right over the edge. He came with a groan, holding Ian tightly to himself as he did so. The redhead came barely ten seconds later inside of Mickey, his lips freezing as he moaned in pleasure.

"Fuck," he stuttered, leaning up to kiss Ian softly. As usual, he kissed back passionately, lifting his hand up to cradle Mickey's face and brush his thumb along his cheek gently. When he pulled back, Mickey searched Ian's eyes. "You're fucking amazing," he panted, before adding, "and you're... you're everything."

Ian's eyebrows furrowed and he looked between Mickey's lips and his eyes, swallowing thickly. The fact that Mickey's words meant everything to him sparked in his green eyes, and he leaned down to lick his way into Mickey's mouth, hugging their chests together. "Let's get the fuck going, gorgeous," he smirked as he pulled away and Mickey blushed and averted his eyes. 

"Shut the fuck up," he said, shoving at Ian's chest to get him off, although there was no strength behind it. 

Ian smiled cheekily and sat up, pulling his pants back on along with his shirt. "You love it," he said confidently, pulling his shirt back over his head. Mickey was still laying on his back, though he'd pulled his boxers up to his hips. He ran his hands over his face in an attempt to come down from the high that Ian always brought him to that rivaled any and all drugs, but it didn't work to do much since the persistent redhead was running his fingers along Mickey's bare chest and torso. He leaned down and started kissing the pale flesh, still feeling the muscles beneath his hands. 

"Gallagher," Mickey groaned, trying to shove him off. By the time he made eye contact with Ian, he was being kissed again, and he laughed a little at Ian's inability to comply. He obviously didn't hesitate to kiss Ian back, running his tongue along the roof of his mouth and catching Ian's lip between his teeth as he pulled back. "Don't be a fucking dick," he instructed, ruffling the mop of red hair before him. 

Ian laughed and threw Mickey's clothes at him, climbing back into the front seat and honking the horn to beckon Benny back in. Mickey dressed himself quickly, still working to catch his breath as he found his way back to the driver's seat and worked on fixing his hair while Benny came back. 

"You two horny fucks done now?" he asked, throwing an empty Doritos bag at Mickey's head. 

He flipped him off and shifted the car into drive. "We're never done."

***

It was around the three quarter point of their drive, when they were just running out of snacks and when their music playlist started to repeat that Benny started fidgeting uncomfortably in the back seat. 

"What the fuck are you doing back there?" Mickey barked, turning around to look at him from the passenger's seat. He and Ian had switched spots half an hour beforehand, and Mickey nearly passed out the second he stopped driving. 

He sighed and looked back at Mickey, his eyebrows furrowed and his overall expression panicked and scared. "They're gonna find me. Rossi is gonna find me, and he's gonna kill me for leaving, just like he's gonna kill Mason. I'm gonna fucking die," he said, rocking back and forth in his seat. 

"Fuck," Mickey said, running a hand over his face. This was a familiar situation to him, as most mobsters came to realize that they were always running for their lives. Luckily, when he'd jumped, he hit the ground running and he's been plummeting downhill ever since. "Look, Benny, they're not gonna find you in Mexico."

He shook his head, chewing his thumb nail. "I don't... I can't do this," he shook his head. "Guys, I can't do this, I can't go! Holy  _fuck_ if I go and they find me, they'll skin me alive!"

"No," Mickey argued, "they would skin  _us_ alive. You haven't done anything wrong, okay? They understand that you're a young kid who just lost his mentor. We're just a couple of fags who went behind the boss's back and fucked around together-"

"You mean the world to me, too, baby," Ian interrupted dryly, not averting his eyes from the road. 

"They're sadistic, disgusting dicks, but they're not heartless. They would cover for you, Benny. If they killed you for anything it would be staying with us after knowing all that shit," he snorted, running a hand through his hair. One look at Benny proved that it was absolutely the wrong thing to say, because he paled considerably when he processed Mickey's statement.

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he swallowed and said, "We're in Arizona right? How far from Phoenix?" 

"Benny, you're not backing out from this. Nothing is gonna happen to you, I promise," Mickey said genuinely, shaking his head. Ian chewed on his bottom lip but remained quiet.

He looked up to meet Mickey's eyes, his own filled with tears. "Look, Mickey, I want to go with you. But there are so many reasons right now that I just... I don't think I can. I'm terrified- like every waking moment is agony," he said deadpan, and Mickey rolled his eyes at how dramatic Benny was. He swallowed and cleared his throat before he continued, "And... I know it's not fair and honestly not true, like... at all. But I just- I can't get over the fact that you did Mason so fucking dirty. And I fucking resent you for it, Mick, no matter how hard I try. And it's shitty for both of us, because he would've ended up right where he is even if you had done things different. But I don't know if that feeling is ever gonna go away."

Mickey sat back in his seat, stunned to silence by Benny's confession. Ian glanced over at him with a concerned expression on his face, and he shifted so he was sitting on his hands. He'd actually wondered if Benny had really gotten over the whole Mason situation or not, and whether he blamed Mickey for it. He assumed that if was still really bothering him he would either say something or get over it, but definitely not bury it until they were only six hours away from freedom. 

"I have some friends in Phoenix," he said quietly, his voice cracking a little. "They don't know anything about the Life, so... they'd take me in and I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. Arizona is far enough from Chicago, right?" he asked with a chuckle and Mickey stared straight ahead, not bothering to reply. 

In all honesty, he wasn't sure what he was feeling, or what he was  _supposed_ to be feeling. He'd done everything he could for Benny. He knew that Mason meant a lot to the kid, but that didn't change the fact that Mason and Mickey fucked each other over all the time; their slates were clean because they were even. Their "doing each other dirty" as Benny so delicately put it was mutual. To be fair, Mickey's didn't lead to him being murdered in prison, as Mason would so inevitably be, but that didn't make it any more Mickey's fault than his own. 

"Yeah, man, just... just give me an address," Ian replied quietly, hesitating before he leaned out to grab Mickey's hand and pull it over before settling it on his thigh. Mickey wanted to wrench his hand away and isolate himself and the confusing mess of feelings reeling through him, but feeling Ian's muscles tense beneath him caused his to relax, and he sighed deeply, squeezing his boyfriend's thigh once to assure him that everything was okay.

Benny looked at his phone and rattled off some meaningless address followed by directions he must have already looked up. "It says we're only twelve minutes away," he added quietly, and Ian nodded solemnly before chewing on his lip. 

The sun had already begun to set, so Ian flicked the headlights of the minivan on and rested his arm on the window, only using his right hand to steer. He tapped the side of his head with his fingers gently, obviously stressed and distracted. They wouldn't arrive at the border until the middle of the night, and by then they'd be tired and stressed. Mickey averted his eyes from Ian and looked out the window, swallowing around the ever prominent lump in his throat. Maybe they could just spend the night at a hotel or something. 

"Look, Mickey, I'm sorry, I just-"

"Don't," Ian interrupted, shaking his head. He successfully shut Benny up, and Mickey pursed his lips. There really wasn't anything else for him to do or say at that point to change anything or even to justify himself or his actions. Benny knew everything there was to know and he would form his own opinions on the matter. He could hate Mickey if he wanted to, it just didn't change the fact that Mickey had let this kid in and was, in all honesty, using him as a surrogate for Mandy. 

He spoke up quietly once they were on the right street, and Ian slowed down so they could see the numbers on each house until Benny told him to stop. "This is a nice neighborhood," Mickey commented when he put the car in park. The houses lining the road were far more expensive and classy than were in any town or city Mickey had lived in his entire life. In fact, these were the type of houses most of his client's lived in, and he inwardly cringed. 

"Yeah," Benny sighed, twisting around to reach into the trunk and pull out his few bags. "Guys, I... I'm really sorry. I was planning on coming with you. I  _want_ to come with you, but I can't. I really,  _really_ hope everything works out. And I..." he licked his lips and opened his door, hesitating before he stepped out. "Just... good luck." With that he hopped out of the car and rounded the back before making his way up the front lawn.

Mickey rolled down his window and barked, "Hey, asshat!" Benny turned around immediately, and swallowed as he looked at Mickey. "You owe me twenty bucks," he sniffed, and Benny's eyebrows furrowed before he understood and licked his lips, digging into his pocket for his wallet and slapping the bill into Mickey's hand. "Fuck you, Benny," he concluded before rolling up his window. 

He swallowed and opened his mouth to say something before changing his mind and jogging up the walkway to get to the door, and when he knocked, he was welcomed in with open arms. Mickey scoffed and pulled his hand away from Ian, crossing his arms instead. "So that's fuckin' it then?" he chuckled mirthlessly and pressed his lips together. 

"He's young, and he... he doesn't get it, Mick," Ian replied, pulling the car around and turning in the wrong direction. 

Mickey wanted to argue; he wanted someone to take his irrational anger out on, and wanted to punch something or shoot something or even just yell at someone, but he couldn't bring himself to do that to Ian, so instead he simply replied, "Yeah, I know." Ian stayed silent after that, pulling up to a large expanse of grass, lightly illuminated by a street lamp before stopping the car and putting it in park. He unbuckled and opened his car door. "What are you doing?" Mickey asked, and was answered with the driver's door slamming in his face. He closed his eyes and counted to ten to keep from snapping while Ian walked around the car and opened the trunk, grabbing something before he closed it. A couple moments later, Mickey's door was being opened and he opened his eyes to give Ian an unamused look. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asked calmly, looking down to see a blanket tucked under Ian's arm. 

"Can you trust me for two seconds?" he asked, tugging on Mickey's arms to get him out of the car. 

He shook his head. "No!"

"You can come willingly or unwillingly, it doesn't fucking matter to me, Mick," he said stubbornly, and Mickey rolled his eyes before getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him. Ian offered him his hand and he took it semi-reluctantly before realizing how much he wanted to touch his boyfriend, then he clutched his hand tightly. 

"Come where?" he tried again, a little softer this time. 

Ian shrugged and started crossing the street. There were railroad tracks running across a bridge just across the grass, and Ian was leading them in that direction. "We're just gonna relax for a little bit, yeah? Then we can get to the border by morning," he explained and Mickey swallowed thickly. 

"Is that really necessary? We agreed that we wanted to just get there as fast as possible," he countered and Ian shrugged. 

He looked over to make eye contact with Mickey. "Does it really matter whether we get there in the middle of the night or sometime in the morning? No, it doesn't. So we're going to lay down and take a little breather, okay?" he explained, and Mickey sighed before shrugging. 

"I guess we can do that," he agreed, looking Ian up and down. 

They walked a little longer until they were down a hill and standing beneath the bridge with the train tracks over it. Ian dropped his hand and went to unfolding the blanket then spreading it across the grass. Ian pointed to it. "Sit."

"What, are we gonna lay down and look for shooting stars? I'm not that gay," he laughed, sitting criss cross on the blanket while Ian laid down.

He rolled his eyes at Mickey before grabbing his shoulder and pulling him down roughly until they were laying shoulder to shoulder, "I beg to differ."

"Shut the fuck up," he laughed, turning his head to look at Ian. He did the same until they were making eye contact and just looking at each other silently. Mickey was the first to move, reaching out to touch Ian's face gently. There were times, especially times when he was feeling emotionally overwhelmed, when he had to prove to himself that Ian was actually there. The ginger closed the distance between them slowly, leaning in to kiss Mickey softly. 

He pressed his lips against Ian's, running his thumb along his cheek gently. When they parted, Ian kept their foreheads pressed together and searched Mickey's eyes. "I'm sorry about Benny," he whispered, and Mickey licked his lips, looking down.

"I should've known that he'd think it was my fault," he admitted before looking back up. "It is my fault- to an extent."

Ian shook his head, grabbing Mickey's waist and tugging him closer before replying, "It's not. You and Mason did shit to each other, sure, but this was his decision. If it's anyone's fault that he's in prison, it's... it's mine.  _I'm_ the one who shot Rossi. I'm the one who should be getting whacked in prison."

"Yeah, well, so am I, so... maybe we're both just dicks," Mickey sighed, and Ian chuckled, leaning in to kiss him again before laying his head on Mickey's chest and closing his eyes.

***

The next morning rolled around quickly, and their nervous energy mixed into anxious fidgeting and excited kisses and small smiles. "We're gonna be living the fucking life," Ian said with a smile, looking over at Mickey, who had switched back to the driver's seat.

"Hell fuckin' yeah, we are," Mickey agreed, smirking a little and squeezing Ian's thigh. "Do you think... maybe you should actually be the one to drive, like...  _over_ the border," he suggested, and Ian furrowed his eyebrows. 

"Are you really that paranoid about this?" he asked, placing his hand over Mickey's. 

He shrugged a little and pulled off into a little dirt culdesac about a mile from the actual border. "They have people everywhere, Gallagher, you know that," he sighed, licking his lips. He parked and looked over at Ian. "Can you just do this for me, babe? Please?" he asked, knowing that if he asked Ian to do anything by calling him 'babe', he'd probably get it. 

"Fucking..." Ian muttered, shaking his head. "Yeah, Mick, of course," he agreed, and started getting out of the car. Mickey did the same, and they met in front of the hood. Ian reached out and grabbed his waist, tugging him roughly forward so their bodies were pressed together.

"You sure you wanna do this, Gallagher?" he asked, running his fingers over Ian's chest and raising his eyebrows. 

Ian nodded, squeezing Mickey's sides. "Shut your fucking mouth," he mumbled before leaning in and kissing Mickey. 

Just like that, nearly every drop of nervous, terrified energy dissipated from inside Mickey's chest. He kissed Ian back desperately, not even caring that it was blatantly obvious how much he needed the reassurance that came with being kissed and held like that. He parted his lips, moaning breathily when Ian's tongue met his. He reached up and cradled Ian's face between his hands, breathing from the gingers lungs and doing all he could without actually devouring Ian whole. 

By the time he pulled away, he was gasping for air, and Ian wasn't far behind. "We're almost there, baby," he said, resting his forehead against Mickey's. "We're one step from the finish line."

Mickey licked his lips and pecked Ian once more. "I love you," he said, and Ian smirked, reaching down to squeeze Mickey's ass. He smacked Ian on the chest and shoved him away. "Go drive."

"I love you, too," he laughed, trying to reach for Mickey again and failing as he jumped away from Ian's grasp. 

"Then get in the fucking car," he instructed with a grin on his face, barely dodging Ian's hands. They tangoed for a couple seconds longer before Ian realized that he wasn't going to be getting a hold of Mickey until they were in another country. Once they were in the car, they took a deep breath and looked at each other, unable to help themselves from leaning in one more time to kiss anxiously before Ian peeled out of the culdesac and onto the road, tapping his fingers on the wheel as they neared border patrol.

Mickey breathed in deeply and looked to Ian when they were up next, overwhelmed. "You ready, babe?" he asked, and Ian smiled a dazzling, smitten smile before winking.

"Let's ride."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow.  
> this might be one of the most emotional rollercoaster-y chapters i've ever written. that OR i'm crying because it's been such an amazing fucking pleasure to write this. i know that the past few chapters have been late and a little subpar, and kind of rough, but in all honesty, it's been that way for a couple reasons. 1) i'm never going to not be afraid of disappointing you guys. you have such high, wonderful expectations that i'm literally terrified i'm not gonna be able to meet, despite your amazing, sweet comments. 2) sometimes writing just pumps out, easy as fuck, and i can give you 6 chapters in two days (please reference the late 30s to early 40s chapters lmao), and other times, it takes me weeks to think of a transition sentence, or a fucking word to encompass everything, which is bullshit and writers block sucks and i'm sorry for that. then theres good old #3. i didn't want this to end. holy SHIT did i want to keep it going forever, and keep this sort of loving give and take relationship i've established with everyone who reads this and everyone who comments on this. it makes me feel needed and appreciated and that's a feeling that's rare and hard to get, especially when you're doing something you love. but i know that it needed to happen, and honestly, i tried to wrap this up in the best way possible AKA what should have happened at the end of season 7, just saying. 
> 
> anyways... thank you all SOOOO much for coming with me on this amazing, incredible journey and for being the best readers and commenters and overall people i could've asked for. i love every single one of you with all my heart and if you ever actually just wanna be friends, i'm more than down. downer than down holy shit, i can only imagine how incredible all of you are. 
> 
> so. this is it. for now at least. <3
> 
> i love all of you, my glowing, amazing, sweet, astounding, terrific, beautiful, astonishing, INCREDIBLE gum drops. and thank you. for fucking everything.


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